Exit
by DandylionFields
Summary: Arthur is a simple man. The man loves his job as an English professor, but when his favourite student is accused of a crime that Arthur is almost certain he did not commit, the Briton feel helpless, fighting temptation. It also doesn't help he's fallen for the attorney that's going to be up against his student. Human!AU USUK
1. Chapter 1

**-Going through an 'edit' for grammar and cosistency-**

Every once and a while, Arthur didn't mind splurging over a few glasses of rich Irish beer. He could just feel those lonelier days where the rain fall was heavier, and the dark nights seemed longer, and he thirsted for a nights where he would probably not remember when the sun rose the next day and the rain had been sucked dry from evaporation. The English professor would start by twisting open a can of his cat's favourite tuna and leave it for the domestic pet to succumb to when it felt hungry. Then the Briton would tousle his light blonde hair and raid his cupboard for a Benjamin Franklin, and tuck it into his wallet, and shrug on his thin raincoat, and wrap his neck with a warm knitted scarf.

Dinner wasn't always necessary, if the Brit could admit it publicly. When company wasn't over- and it rarely was, mind you, he would often order takeout. When company WAS over, then the professor's ego took over. Nevertheless, all he needed tonight was to get hammered this Friday night and not think about the dreaded mid-term session that was closely creeping on him.

Today was a special day, however.

_Four bloody years, _Arthur nodded to himself as he jammed his hands into his pockets, starting a low whistle. _Four bloody years, Artie. Good job you incredible Brit!_

The green-eyed man had gone to the same bar for the last 48 months. Arthur preferred the rawness of the pub that seemed to always go out and in business, depending on the way loan sharks hit the owner. Beer was imported from the British islands, and it felt exactly like home. Sure it cost a bit more than Arthur would have liked, but it was rarely crowded, and the owner had known the Brit enough to call a taxi for him when one drink too many was served to the angry drunk.

A familiar chime dinged as Arthur pushed the wooden door open, ignoring the 'CLOSED' sign. It was only ever there for formalities when the owner, a white-haired beer enthusiast was feeling particularly tired. Said owner snapped his head up when the door chimed.

"HEY! CAN YOU DUMMKOMPFS NOT SEE THE SIGN- Oh, hey, Artie, my man!" Gilbert greeted, opening his arms up in jubilation. "How's my least favourite college professor?"

"S'not raining tonight, so I'm doing quite alright," Arthur admitted, sliding onto a barstool. "Where's your brother tonight?" Gilbert had already begun unboxing a new crate of Arthur's favourite. The other German brother grunted.

"As-hole left me to fend for myself the week. He went to the city to quote scout new bank loans unquote, but really I think it's his and Feli's anniversary or some shit." The unusually red-eyed man just shined a glass and emptied the bottle, smirking proudly as he sliced through the foam. Arthur accepted it graciously.

Gilbert sighed, "Art, you've got to definitely warn me when you want to stop coming, okay? That stuff costs a fortune to ship over."

"Well, I pay you don't I?"

"How long before your teacher's salary runs dry? I'm partially kidding, man, but if you know for sure, let me cancel the orders," Gilbert winked. He popped the rest of the crate into the mini fridge under the counter to allow them to get ice cold. "But anyway, is there a reason you completely ignored my awesome sign to not enter?" The bartender took a seat himself and propped his chin on his fists, eyeing the blonde manically.

"I do believe I've never told you a story worth telling."

"What was it again? Another day of hell with those bratty 19 year olds? How are you a college prof anyway? You're barely 30."

"We've gone over this, Gil."

"Yeah, yeah, you're English and some shit," the other man yapped, slamming his head on the table. He growled, "I'm getting tired. Have you fill and leave the cash 'fore you leave okay?"

Arthur nodded, tipping the glass and emptying it down.

To four bloody years, he toasted to himself.

X-X-X-X-X

"W-Whoa there man," a distinctive male American voice cautioned. Arthur's vision was already starting to get hazy as he slammed the hundred dollar bill beside Gilbert's missing body. His head didn't ache as much as it usually did, so that must have meant he didn't get completely wasted. And telling by the surrounding, he had fallen asleep on the counter. He felt the similar dullness in his body and joints as he tried to get himself up, only to knock a taller dirty-blonde, slamming the latter's hand and allowing his drink to trickle down his shirt. Arthur hiccuped and just shrugged as if it were nothing. The American didn't seem so impressed.

"What the hell man! Don't you know your limits?!" Arthur couldn't see clearly, but he could make out a tall bespectacled male trying to pat his shirt dry. The Briton rolled his eyed- overreacting hipsters, he thought.

"I do know, and I'm off," Arthur answered ever so eloquently.

"You better find some way to replace this! I got German beer on this shirt! I could sue your as- right now if I wanted to-!"

Arthur just snorted. Go ahead, he thought. At this point, he just didn't give a damn. Why was this annoying man freaking over a _shirt_. He just flipped the man off and headed for the door. The other just grabbed his shoulder and turned the shorter man around.

"I have a freaking meeting in one hour! Do I look like I have time to get changed?! You're just walking out?"

"Uh…_yes,_" Arthur nodded. He grabbed his coat off the rack and shrugged it on.

Gritting his teeth, the American was about to go all court-whipping when his brother burst in from the back.

"Alfred, please be quiet," a soft voice pleaded. Arthur blinked a few times and cocked his head. Gilbert waved at his British friend, one arm draped around another bespectacled blonde who looked almost identical to the annoying one in front of Arthur.

"Yeah, Jones, if you're so pissed off Artie'll take you to his house and get your cleaned up. He lives 10 minutes from here," Gilbert offered. Arthur spluttered at the idea.

"I'll do no such thing."

Gilbert narrowed his eyes, hoping that Arthur got the clue. He had chosen to wake up the Brit earlier, and now he knew he was probably a stupid idea as the hungover Brit would have probably not liked a morning Alfred Jones.

No one messed with Alfred F. Jones when the 25-year old was in his profession mode.

The American just looked down on Arthur and cocked his eyebrow.

"Are you sure?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Why couldn't we have taken a cab?" Alfred grumbled as the two blondes finally made it to the seventh floor of the building that Arthur resided in. This was probably his umpteenth complaint to shorter man, whines ranging from the walking distance to the tasteless building. Arthur had tuned him out almost immediately, a skill the Briton had grasped from years of high education and other past customers. As the lawyer droned about his penthouse suite to the side of Central Park, Arthur jammed the key into the lock, and turned the door open, failing to gesture for the American to come in. If the git wanted to enter, then bloody enter, the professor reasoned. He sure as hell wasn't welcome.

Alfred took the hint and followed Arthur into his small apartment. At first, a wave of nostalgia hit the American lawyer, bringing him back to his early years in Virginia where his mother hadn't been too well-off, but the flashback was squashed when he snapped back to his surroundings. His stark white shirt was now tainted in strong beer, and he was itching to get out of it before his meeting. He hadn't been all too happy that the new private corporation that had requested his help was in Queens, NY, but regardless, he had a name to uphold, and a ruined shirt didn't exactly give him any benefit. "You've got a clean shirt I can borrow?"

"Honestly, when do you bump into someone and request they lend you a fuc-ing shirt?" Arthur scowled, hooking his scarf on a big hook. He figured it was going to be a rhetorical question as the lawyer would probably rage if Arthur admitted he had dragged the poor bloke to his home with nothing to actually offer. _Serves him right for being such a bastard, though, _he thought.

Alfred opened his mouth to say something before Arthur cut him off.

"I'll get you a shirt from my fat days," the Englishman smirked, disappearing into his bedroom. Alfred hesitated as to follow him or not, but in the end just took a seat on one of the two armchairs that stood in the corner Alfred guessed was a living room.

Many questions flooded into Alfred's mind as his hands hovered over the shelves that were tacked above the television. Many were sceneries of what Alfred was 99% sure was London, but there were a few of him with graduating students. _Was Arthur a teacher? What did he teach? Where did he teach?_

Arthur's apartment was strictly two-bedroom at most. The walls were and off white and the floors were a soft beige colour that must have been taken care of well. A small kitchenette stood in the far side corner, with a simple square dining table. Alfred could pinpoint what he thought was a makeshift office, papers organized neatly in the shelves. He gave the pictures one more glance and turned on his heel to take a peek at what this British dude did. He could see a silver Mac computer was asleep, with papers scrawled in red marks. Yep, this dude was definitely a teacher, Alfred concluded. He turned his eyes to scan the two large bookcases that were stocked full. His lips curved into a smirk as his eyes ran over books that seemed to all be on his University book lists, from classics to analytical psych books. He blinked a few times at one that seemed to catch his eye, hands lifting to see if what he saw was accurate when Arthur grunted into the room, swinging his left hand like a waiter. A pressed white shirt lay atop his hand.

"I believe your meeting is in 30 minutes. You can get changed and quit investigating my home, thank you," Arthur sighed.

Alfred just smiled weakly.

X-X-X-X-X-X

"So, uh, I'll leave it at Gil's when I'm done…?"

"Do whatever you bloody want. It's old anyway," Arthur sighed, waving his hand dismissively. Once Alfred had gone into the washroom to change his shirt, Arthur had plucked out a new pile of papers to grade and flipped on his computer. He had his reading glasses perched his the bridge of his nose, not paying attention to Alfred as the man turned to open the door.

Alfred sucked in his cheeks. He knew had been quite rude earlier to the Briton, but now he felt like he wished he could get to the know him. And gosh, when Arthur wore glasses, Alfred's cheeks flushed. The man sure looked good when he was serious.

"Uh, thanks, man," Alfred said, stepping out. He wanted to stay for a while, but dammit, that meeting he had to get to!

Arthur heard the door close, "Bloody bye."

X-X-X-X-X-X

"How was it?" Matthew asked meekly as his brother entered the limousine. Telling from Alfred's undone tie, and his hair slightly disheveled, there was probably a bit more arguments or disagreements than the man would have wanted.

"My boss was a complete di-k," Alfred sighed. He tossed his briefcase onto the floor of the sleek black limousine.

After Matthew had kissed and left his new boyfriend to work, he had gone to talk over new real estate matters. He was the money-making realtor, while his brother was the money-making attorney. The sun was setting, and both brothers were dead tired. Their limousine had arrived to pick up Matthew first, and then headed to pick up the other twin. A few hours of drinking in the car was now their only concern as they headed back to the city where their cosy home lie.

"I didn't have the best day either. They're making these lame claims of being Art Deco. Give me a break," Matthew scoffed, opening up the mini-fridge.

"Matthew's problems," Alfred joked.

As Alfred undid his jacket, and reached over, Matthew blinked.

"Arthur really let you borrow his shirt?"

"You can tell, huh? Man, his arms are short. AND skinny," Alfred chuckled, un-cuffing the buttons. He plucked a glass bottle of beer and snapped the cap off.

"Gilbert told me he usually wouldn't have."

"Yeah, but I would have forced him to."

"Were you late to your meeting?" Matthew asked, rolling the windows down and tipping his own beer can into his mouth.

"Arthur indirectly kicked me out as soon as I got changed."

"Ah."

X-X-X-X-X-X

Monday mornings were the worst.

Even though weekends weren't much better, Alfred never liked rolling out of his bed and get driven to his office. He had practically engulfed his Sunday nursing a hangover from the drinking session in the limo with his little brother. He felt fine and ready to face the day, but he still had that inch of high school persona, where Mondays were hell.

Matthew had already left the penthouse to visit his clients around the city. Due to the economy, quite a few seniors were giving up their Fifth Avenue suites to move into something affordable. He had left half a pot of coffee for his lawyer brother, to which Alfred was ever so grateful for.

After taking a quick shower, and brushing his pearly teeth clean, Alfred threw in a slice of bread into the toaster and poured himself a cup of coffee. As he stirred in a spoonful of sugar, Alfred slumped into his seat, eyes couldn't help but roll over to the white shirt that lay on his sofa.

_Meh, just got to get to Friday,_ Alfred mused.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Peter hitched his backpack up onto his shoulder as he bolted down the hallways of his college. He didn't like being late, and his foster parents usually chastised him over the phone for staying up late, but oh gosh, that game was just amazing! But on the other hand, crap! He didn't expect to have woken up so late.

He could thank the heavens that his first class was English, the class he somehow seemed to do well on. The teacher was an absurd prick who had too many high standards, but in terms of essays and speeches, the adopted Swedish-Finnish boy did rather exceptional. As he reached the classroom door, Peter lay one hand on the doorknob and panted.

The door swung open, almost sending Peter to ground before he realized Mr. Kirkland was giving him a dismayed look.

"You're late again, my boy," Mr. Kirkland groaned, gesturing Peter to get in.

"Sorry, teach," Peter mumbled.

The class didn't seem to be paying an awful lot of attention anyway, so Peter figured he wasn't too late.

"Just sit, Peter. We're deciding on a new novel to read," the professor explained. Peter nodded, eyeing the stack of aged books Mr. Kirkland had on his desk. There were scrawled notes of each title on the blackboard, most of the titles Peter had never heard of. He was never much of a reader when he lived with his parents back in Sweden, but occasionally he'd find something nice to read. Somehow or another, he impressed the class with his English.

As the 19-year old scrambled to sit down, Arthur rubbed his temples. He could easily admit that Peter wasn't as much of a git as he had early on suspected. The boy was from a foreign country and wrote beautifully, and Arthur was grateful he always had at least one paper that wasn't completely moronic. But the boy lacked the ability to ever be punctual.

"AS I WAS SAYING…" Arthur's voice boomed, silencing the class.


	3. Chapter 3

If you didn't know Alfred F. Jones, you never truly ever received that feeling that when the man with that stubborn cowlick pressed his Italian-soled foot into the office or courtroom, the man meant business. He was jovial man, and typically liked by all, but he did have his unfavourable traits, as did everyone. His co-workers could say he almost always had his head in the clouds unless he was speaking with a client or dealing with his uptight superior. He ate too much for his well-being, and he wanted everyone to be his friend. Of course, a man of his power and status, everyone wanted to be his friend, but not everyone appreciated his self-centred moments and childish behaviour at times. You couldn't blame him though- 99% of the time everyone was too scared to say anything.

The 25-year old had somehow gone from being a chubby kid with aspirations of being an astrophysicist to bolting into a prestigious college with a dream of defending the innocent. He had a secret fetish for science, sure, but whenever he proved that person who couldn't afford a lawyer was 100% INNOCENT, he heart soared to the clouds. It wasn't long before the wide-eyed 23-year old had been reached out by international firms that paid him handsomely. Ever since, he lived in that shared penthouse overlooking Central and one of the crown jewels at the firm he worked for.

Alfred missed working for the poor, it was true, but as his mother had told him, people find success, and success had found _him._ He would have been a bigger idiot to deny himself the life he could never have back home in Virginia with his mother. And the young man would give himself time to consider the fact if he ever truly loved the work of a law, or whether the hope of being a hero had consumed any objections.

Looking back, now the American was a a key behind-the-scenes person for big-shot corporations, and sometimes, they were guilty.

And Alfred would defend the bad guys…

It didn't make sense, but the in the city of money and power, sometimes you just couldn't afford to think otherwise.

* * *

Alfred's eyes scanned the thick document for the second time before he nodded and dumped it into his tray that would be sent to his boss upstairs. He had gone through so much tiny font that now his eyes were starting to give way. He pressed the back of his hand to rub his eye a bit, and he wasn't a doctor, so any negative effects possible slipped his mind.

When he'd taken his break, he had persuaded his brother (who was probably in Lower Manhattan right now) to give him Gilbert's number.

Why?

Quite frankly, the American, who specialized in criminal prosecution, didn't know _why._ He just somehow needed to have a conversation about Arthur.

Yes, Alfred felt like a complete creeper.

He couldn't feel any signs of being attracted to the green-eyed blonde, but the man in general definitely piqued his interest. Alfred was hoping that Arthur was weekly pub-hopper, which would make things easy for him to drop the shirt off. The American told himself he was doing a good thing by driving all the way to QUEENS on a random night just to return a shirt. Yes, that's what heroes do, right?

When Matthew finally snapped, and raged in French to his brother, all Alfred could do was wait. He eventually hung up on his brother, and just waited.

Within seconds, Matthew had texted Alfred the number to Gilbert's bar.

* * *

"SCHIEBE! STOP CALLING!"

Alfred's head snapped when the German voice that answered was definitely not….Gilbert.

"Er…hey…" Alfred chuckled nervously; suddenly feeling a bit scared in his Armani suit.

"LUDWIG BEILLSCHMIDT. VHAT?"

L-Ludwig? Who's that?

"I think I've gotten the wrong number…"

"DON'T CALL BACK. SCHIEBE!" Ludwig growled into his phone on the other line.

"W-W-Wait…is this Awesome Pub?" Alfred asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

Before Ludwig could confirm it, he hung up.

In his pub in Queens, Gilbert keeled over laughing, wiping his tears.

Matthew had texted him about 10 minutes ago that his brother was about to call. The realtor really did not want to know what Alfred wanted to do to mess up that poor Brit's life, and requested that Gilbert take things into his own hands. Of course, being the awesome boyfriend that he was, he just decided to pull one over the American law nut. He felt bad about Arthur having to lend the obnoxious idiot a shirt, and he truly liked the scowling Briton. From what Matthew told him, Alfred definitely wanted to see Arthur again, but he was warned Alfred never people around long, could never hold a relationship because his job was too important, and Matthew was sure the English professor didn't even LIKE Alfred.

Ludwig turned to his brother. "You are vatching the bar this veekend, too?"

"Ja, of course," Gilbert smirked. "Cuz Wiggy got lucky again?"

The blonde German's face just reddened.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"How was your birthday?"Lilli Zwingli asked, looking up from her clipboard as she noticed the familiar British fellow at the door.

_It wasn't my birthday._

"It was fine, Lilli. Thank you for remembering," Arthur chuckled, hanging up his coat on the rack. Lilli handed him his personalized name tag.

"Big brother said you probably got drunk," the girl giggled, scrawling on her clipboard.

Arthur winked, "Don't trust the gun-wielding bloke."

* * *

"Mr. Kirkland!"

Arthur's face brightened as the cluster of small children gathered around him. He hadn't come to visit them on the weekend because he was 'celebrating', but it was nice to see their innocent faces again.

Almost every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday, Arthur would drop by after his lessons to read with the children at the home. They were sweet to any company, and eventually either called him Mr. Kirkland or Brother Artie. Lilli would usually giggle in the corner when the pre-teens chucked an eraser at Arthur's insistence to read a chapter of _Harry Potter, _because 90% of them had already stormed through the novels. He had since decided to allow the kids to just choose- by accident, the poor teacher had been on the rim of reading one of Dickens' books, before he realized so many revolved around orphanages.

He knew that when the students were of age, they were taken to an inner-city school, but they spent the afternoons trying to entertain themselves, hoping to be adopted. Arthur had met Lilli when he had moved into the county with intent to help out as much as he could. He didn't have much of a social life anyway, and his new life was to bury the past one. With minimal convincing, he waltzed into the shelter and began volunteering.

It still felt weird at times, but it felt nice.

His past life would have never done such a thing.

"Did you do anything particularly interesting, Arthur?" the soft-spoken young lady asked, shutting off the lights in the little kids' room. She shut the door and escorted the Brit out. Arthur shrugged, running his hand through his hair.

"Honestly? No. I met this bastard of a bloke, but that wasn't interesting. In fact, I almost forgot about him until you brought the night up."

_No, you didn't._

Lilli laughed, "Well, was he from around here?"

"No. I believe he's a bigshot in Manhattan. Like I give a damn, right?" Arthur guffawed.

"I take it he's a rich man in the city."

"I wouldn't necessarily disagree with you, dear."

"Will you be seeing him again?"

"The chances aren't exactly slim. He borrowed my shirt, you see. I might have ruined his other one, and I do have it hanging in the closet after I washed it. It's a bloody hassle to deal with silk shirts. Who wears silk shirts?"

_Do you really want to answer your own question, Arthur? _

"He probably pays others to get to cleaned, huh?" Lilli sighed. "It must be nice to be money-making man, huh?"

"I wouldn't know. I'm an English professor. Need I remind you?" Arthur added, almost too quickly.

"Well," Lilli shrugged, taking back the Arthur's name tag and handing him his coat. "However much money he makes, you'll be the better person. You don't defend the city, but you acknowledge the ignored."

Arthur opened his mouth to say something.

Lilli cut him off. "_And _you care."


	4. Chapter 4

He stepped into the iconic New York taxi beaming with excitement. The driver cocked his head to ask where the Frenchman wished to go, but Francis was too busy admiring the fact he had made it to NEW YORK to actually say anything.

"….not hear or something? I don't know where to go!" exclaimed the angry driver.

Francis snapped back to reality and nodded apologetically. "Je suis desole." The Frenchman leaned over and showed the driver an address. "I believe his name was Mathieu. A client of his was in need of a caterer. Bien sur, I am the best in France."

The driver nodded as if he cared.

"You drive me there to meet him, oui? Then you will drive me to my friend's in the Upper West, si vous plait."

As the driver revved the engine, Francis dug into his Louis Vuitton carry-on, and dug through for the stack of US dollars that he'd had to exchange a week ago. He leafed through the pile, silently watching the meter go up. While his new employer had offered a limo, Francis really wanted to see his Italian baby cousins. They had parted years ago after Francis had graduated from their culinary program and returned to France. When the Italians had graduated, they were shipped off to America for new prospects.

And now Francis was excited, most of the energy from all the stories Feliciano would dwell upon in emails. Francis enjoyed his near celebrity status though in Europe, country hopping every few months. To think, four years ago he was a sous chef whose ability was never displayed, never acknowledged. Four years ago, all those bright-eyed young adults so successful, targets of Francis's early career lust.

Some disappeared after a while, and Francis never really remembered them, but some were forever burned into his mind, even if he did try to mask it.

_Why am I recalling such a depressing memory?_

Now his career was in an all-high boom, being sought after for diplomatic missions to a billionaire's daughter's 16th birthday. He met women from all around the world, and some lusted for the French chef to no end. He wasn't the richest man, but he travelled so much (all-expense paid), it didn't matter.

Francis Bonnefoy had made it to New York, city of Broadway, arts, Central Park and Fifth Avenue. He had made marks in Spain, Italy, England and France. America had better be prepared.

X-X-X-X-X-X

"Tell me again dear brother, WHY CAN'T I GO HOME?"

"I know you had a rough day, Al, but I did too. And I'm not letting you call Rick (the limo guy) before 6. You know that chef one of my clients wanted for their house-warming party…"

"Why the hell are YOU taking care of this? Doesn't that katrillionaire have someone else to do this dirty work for him?!"

"AL, be quiet."

"I'm still pissed off about that number you gave me yesterday."

Matthew smirked, shrugged. "_I _thought it was hilarious."

Al glared at his brother.

"You really shouldn't bother Arthur. You don't even know him."

"But I want to."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I think he's one of the first people to not know who I am, and he wasn't scared, I guess…"

"You're no very intimidating," Matthew retorted, spinning in his chair. Alfred had rolled up his sleeves and perched his glasses on top of head, pressing his forehead against the wall.

"I don't know. I find myself attractive, and he didn't think twice about me. And I don't think he's straight…"

"I accept the fact you've won 10 tens the cases you lost, and you graduated with honours, blah, blah, blah, but you are dumb sometimes, did you realize that?"

"No," Al smiled.

Matthew checked the clock that stood beside the doorway of his office. He felt bad that Alfred had to walk over to his office from his own at 5 to be picked up together by their driver. But they only paid their driver to drop off and pick them up, with the occasional trips to different counties. It wasn't an on-demand service, much to Alfred's chagrin, and Matthew's relief. Unlike his brother, he actually preferred to spend less, and only on rational things. The rides were only because he knew both had grueling days where they really did not need to put up with rude taxi drivers.

"Well, he should be here in 20 minutes. If you behave, I'll talk to Gilbert. But please, don't intrude any more than anyone deems appropriate. Don't you think if Arthur cared, he would be reaching out to _YOU_? You're a bit too narcissistic for your own good if you think everyone falls in lust with you." The real-estate magnate sighed, tapping his pen on his desk.

"Welp, he still has my Tom Ford shirt to return," Alfred winked.

X-X-X-X-X-X

"Artie! You feeling better, man?" Gilbert chuckled, wiping the counter in circular motion.

Arthur mock-smiled at the white-haired man, and flipped him off. He didn't need to visit the shelter today, and had his papers graded. His cat had gone into hiding again, so he was alone.

Again.

He didn't plan on getting drunk, just having a glass or two of something inexpensive and weak. It was a plus to have Gilbert to talk to, because he knew that Gilbert's new boyfriend, Mason, or something, was back in the Manhattan managing large-scale real estate deals.

Along with that Alfred bloke.

_Not that I care! His stupid shirt is just always there! Ugh!_

"Yes, I feel fine, no thanks to you!"

"You were sleeping!" Gilbert protested, grabbing a class from the shelf. "Is tonight another night of sorrows, or is it guy-to-guy talk?"

"Something weak, if you please," Arthur sighed. "I do have a class to teach and I'd prefer not to have to take 10 Advils before doing so."

"You're the customer," the 'Prussian' winked, filling a glass. He slid it to Gilbert who continued to weak a cheese-eating grin.

"Does my presence amuse you, Beillschmidt?"

"You know Birdie's brother that you spilled beer on? By the way, props for that. He gets on my every nerve. Anyway, he's been trying to reach you."

"Fu-k him. He's an arse," Arthur snorted, downing his drink.

"I don't know man. I haven't seen you with anyone the whole time you moved here from uh, Britland?"

"_England,_ git."

"Right. Well, I don't know. He seems awfully adamant."

"All I bloody want is for him to pick up his shirt!" Arthur roared. Gilbert gave him a deadpan expression. The Brit mumbled quickly,"I don't think he's my type."

Gilbert guffawed, "Of course, of course. Rich, successful, good-looking- BUT ONLY NEXT TO BIRDIE OF COURSE. Not your type, gotcha." The red-eyed man winked mischievously.

"Tch."

"Don't worry. Luddy shooed him off."

"Thank him for that."

Gilbert patted Arthur's back. "What DO you do when you aren't getting drunk or basking in my awesomeness? It's been years, and you know what's weird? I assume you're at home with your cat and marking papers."

Arthur smiled, "Only sometimes."

"So like yesterday, what'd you do?"

"Nothing," the Briton shrugged.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bonnefoy," Matthew greeted, sticking out a hand for the Frenchman to shake.

"You're late," Alfred grumbled in the background.

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Williams…twins?" Francis asked, cocking an eyebrow up.

"I'm Jones- for businesses sake," Alfred explained, having taken Matt's chair when the latter had stood up.

Francis nodded. "Very well. I believe I am just here to collect some paperwork over Monsieur Smith's suggestions for the menu, oui?"

"Yes, yes," Matthew nodded, reaching over a file. "Thank you again for your prompt flight. I know it must've been difficult."

"I am world-class cook, mon cher. I fly where my job takes me. No hassle, don't worry. I must applaud you however. A real-estate big man like yourself going to greater lengths to please your client."

"That's why he makes money," Alfred clucked his tongue in the background. Matthew rolled his eyes.

"Well, he is a long-time client of mine. And he requested your catering. Are you staying in a hotel? We can bill the accommodations to my name."

"I will see you in two days time, oui? In the meantime, I will be staying at my cousins' to catch up. Thank you for this. I will look over it with great care." Francis assured, already flipping through the files.

"Thank you, again. You are awfully polite for such a celebrity," Matthew smiled weakly.

"I do my best," Francis winked, saluting the two brothers. Alfred punched the air in victory over the short meeting and punched the speed-dial for his driver. He could finally go home.

And if could say so himself, Mattie owed him a new number.

* * *

"ARE you drunk?" Gilbert asked cautiously, handing Arthur a glass of water.

"I feel fine…er….I'm okay." Arthur grunted, pulling on his coat.

Gilbert called up a taxi anyway. Once the blonde seemed almost incoherent, he helped Arthur in and paid the driver himself. Arthur usually paid him back in the morning anyway.

As the yellow taxi drove off, Gilbert smiled. Ja, that man can drink, even when he doesn't want to.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"You have reached the awesome me, hello!" Gilbert boomed into his phone.

"Gil, it's me…"

"Oh, hey, Birdie!" Gilbert smiled, locking the door of his pub. He began dimming the lights, just keeping the ones on his counter. Ludwig had gotten home from the bank in the midst of Arthur's drinking rant, and gone upstairs to their two bedroom apartment. Gilbert leaned against the wall and poured himself a pint. "How're the snobs in the city?"

Mattie giggled over on his side.

"Been doing okay, I suppose. Just met the Frenchman Smith wanted for his party. He's nice."

"Ja, that's nice."

"Gil, you know how last time I told you to try to keep Al from calling Artie?"

Gilbert nodded, taking a sip from his beer. "Was Ludwig too intimidating?"

Matthew laughed nervously over the phone.

"Do you mind if I actually give him the number this time?"

* * *

"I love you, Birdie," Gilbert approached cautiously.

"But…?"

Gilbert rubbed his temples. "You just missed him. He had a couple of weak gin, and I just saw him off. As biased as I am about your arschloch of a brother, I don't think Arthur wants anything to do with Al. Heh heh…Oh, except give his shirt back."

Alfred shoved Matthew, snatching the phone to speak to the German.

* * *

_"I don't really know why I chose to teach, bloody cheeses," Arthur whispered, tapping his glass for Gilbert to fill it up again._

_The self-proclaimed Prussia gave the Brit a look before pouring out a half of the drink._

_"You're doing something you love, right?" Arthur slurred, downing the drink in a second._

_Gilbert coughed out a laugh, "Yeah, man, bartending was my one goal in life."_

_"And bloody hell, I applaud your success."_

Man, his sarcasm senses are crazy bad when he's drinking, _Gilbert sighed. He tucked the bottle away and rested his chin on his hand, patting Arthur's shoulder._

_"Well, what do you want to be…."_

_Arthur looked up at his semi-friend and pressed his lips. Even when most of his senses were raging with alcohol…he couldn't._


	5. Chapter 5

**Woo! Actually got to post WAYY sooner than I thought! Praise the light homework load lords *-***

**xoxo Dandy**

_Just in case- there are NO inappropriate feelings between Arthur and Peter LOL. Had to put it out there :) _

* * *

It was reunion that was long overdue. He rapped against the door for a few times before he heard heavy footsteps, most likely due to the fact someone would open the door. Francis sighed humbly, as he gripped the handles of his luggage, teetering front and back, waiting for the door to open.

"COUSIN FRANCIS!" Feliciano squealed, wrapping his lanky arms around the blonde Frenchman. Francis laughed amicably.

"It is nice to see you again, mon cher," he said.

Ludwig coughed in his fist.

"Er, hallo," the buff German said, feeling slightly awkward in the situation.

Feliciano sensed his boyfriend's feelings and pulled Francis into his flat. Ludwig shut the door, allowing Francis to set his luggage at the foot of the coat rack. Feliciano was speeding around the apartment, checking the guest room, and the fridge for refreshments. He hadn't seen one of his favourite cousins ever since he still lived in and was in school in Europe. Ludwig took a seat on the sofa and picked up a newspaper. The Frenchman shrugged and leaned around the armchair.

The Vargas brothers jointly owned a magnificent flat in the city, one that stood the opposite side of the park of that of the William-Jones's. Their ancestors had been rather secretive over their American jobs many decades ago, but ever since immigrating into the country, they made an honest living with their Italian culinary arts. Lovino was frequently out of the apartment, but still paid his half of the rather pricey home. Francis had early on been hesitant over leaving his French home to try his luck in the whirlwind of the American market, but now that he was here temporarily, he also saw it as a chance to see if he would stay permanently. People either make it or lose it, but the thrill was there. And so was his extended family.

"Francis! You'll be staying in Lovino's room while he's away, okay?" Feliciano asked, grabbing Francis's hand to lead him into the room.

"I'll be here for two days. Is that okay?"

"COUSIN FRANCIS! You can stay here for a month for all I care! Please tell me you will stay after your event!" the copper-haired Italian pleaded. Ludwig slammed his forehead into his hands. Did anyone ever get away with saying no to that face?

Francis smiled, "If my agent back in Paris does not have any more jobs for me, I will stay for the month. But! I will pay for my own accommodations." He glanced at the hunk of a boyfriend his cousin had. "I wouldn't want to _intrude…_"

Feliciano clapped his hands in joy. "Tomorrow, we go to Luddy's bar to celebrate!"

"Nein. Feliciano, it's all the way in Queens. You cannot just not go to work to visit a bar." Ludwig interjected.

"I'll call in sick! Please! Francis will have to work in two days!"

Again with that pleading face.

X-X-X-X-X-X-x

"Oh, hey, Mr. Kirkland!"

Arthur paused and allowed his mind to register who was owner of that familiar voice. He turned around and smiled.

Peter caught up to his favourite teacher and grinned, "You're walking home?"

"I sometimes take the bus, but I'm visiting someone today."

The 19-year old nodded, sticking his hands into his pockets. "That's cool. There wasn't any soccer practice today, so I'm heading into town to buy some groceries."

* * *

Arthur watched amused as the teenager threw in can after can into his shopping basket. The Brit had decided to pick up some treats on his way to bring to the children, and in doing so followed the boy as he raided the canned food aisle for 'necessities'. Peter was a relatively fit boy, and from what Arthur heard from other staff, he lived alone in one of the smaller and grungier dorms in the area. His parents were Swedish and Finnish, and worked back in Sweden. Arthur could say he was proud of the student, excelling in his courses to make his parents proud. During class, Peter typically kept to himself, occasionally talking to his neighbour, but from what Arthur knew, he didn't have many friends, save those on his soccer team.

"Is that truly nutritious, my boy?"

Peter shrugged, "A few more weeks of living off Chef Boyardee, and I'm going home for the holidays. My ma is crazy about Christmas."

Nodding, Arthur plucked a few bottles of alcohol for himself, knowing he was running low, as well as few cans of tuna for his stubborn domestic pet. Brittania had been all over the place as of late, but at least the grouchy cat didn't starve herself.

"So, you live close to school, Mr. K?" Peter asked, scanning the shelves for some instant coffee.

"Not exactly. I actually live on the opposite end."

"What're you doing here then?"

Arthur glanced at the innocent teenager, pursing his lips.

"Well, it's sort of cheesy, but I actually like to visit the kids' home for...runaways or orphans…" Arthur's voice lowered as he mumbled the last two words. He felt the rush of guilt wash over him again. He expected Peter to drop his basket and call Arthur an insensitive jerk, but the boy just nodded slowly.

Peter sensed the awkward feeling Arthur was feeling, and patted his teacher.

"You don't need to be worried, Mr. K. I think that's really admirable."

"R-R-Really? I was worried you would be offended."

"Pfft, never. All those kids are lucky to have such a scowling English prof visit them," Peter chuckled.

"Why, I ought to-!"

"We're not in class, Mr. K. You can't really punish me," the student cut off. After plucking the generic brand of coffee, Peter made his way to the cashier.

Arthur sighed heavily.

"W-Would you like to join me?" the teacher asked.

Peter gave his teacher a look. After a few seconds, he nodded.

* * *

Lilli smiled as Arthur walked into the lobby swinging a grocery bag in his hand. Trailing behind the English teacher was a younger male, blonde as well. For some reason, the younger male also had excessive eyebrows, but not so much as Arthur himself. He seemed a bit shy, but Arthur insisted he not be.

"Lilli, this is one of my students. Peter, Lilli. Lilli, Peter," Arthur introduced, digging through the bag. He pulled out a box of candies and handed it to Lilli.

"I figured the kids could use a treat for dinner."

"That is very sweet of you," Lilli smiled.

Arthur turned to Peter, "Come on, boy. I think there are some kids who would be ecstatic to meet you."

Peter nodded, hitching up his backpack. As he followed the older man to the kids' room, he couldn't help but look back at the green-eyed girl who was busy filling in papers. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was tied up with a simple ribbon, and she just looked angelic. She also seemed like a very nice person-

"Peter? Are you daydreaming?"

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Matthew loomed over the kitchen stove, the cordless phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder. His soft laughter erupted every few seconds as his boyfriend cracked another lame joke, or so Alfred assumed. The American lawyer was slouched over a bowl of grapes, plucking them and chomping on them harshly.

It wasn't the fact that Alfred was exactly jealous about his younger brother's successful somewhat long-distance relationship with the bartender, but he felt a bit left out. Ever since graduating from law school, and beginning his work at the firms, he hadn't been able to hold a relationship for more than two weeks. He met people, and they'd go for a drink or two, but it was almost never that Alfred really felt the urge to see them again. Matthew had met Gilbert at a convention a few months ago, and whenever he could, the magnate would go down to see him, or Gilbert would take the train to the city to accompany him for a lunch. At first, Gilbert seemed a bit bitter around Alfred, almost showing clear distaste, and that was point Alfred hoped Matthew would register as to not consider this guy for a boyfriend.

Weirdly enough, it had driven the two closer. Matthew appreciated Gilbert's honesty. Gilbert was loud and slight obnoxious, like Alfred in some ways, but he also gave the hard truth, and was thoughtful. The white-haired man wasn't all business, but he wasn't all fun. He was willing to talk for a hours, and he knew when to back off. Matthew never got a relation like that. His childhood had been his poor mother trying to juggle 2 jobs, and his brother usually acted a bit TOO invasive for Matthew's liking.

Gilbert was nice. He was good change.

As the younger brother, moved the sizzling vegetables around in their pan, still laughing into the receiver to his boyfriend, Alfred went to pluck another grape from the bowl, only to realize there was no more.


	6. Chapter 6

**Side note: How I ended up posting another chapter on Monday is beyond me (-fp)**

**ALSO I realize you might be like "WAI FRANCIS NO PLAYER?!", or maybe it completely slipped you mind. Well, it came into my mind, and all I can say is patience, young grasshopper, patience. Francis's character is less (wo)manizing in this story, and is key to Arthur's. GerIta/Spamano are very minor, JSYK!**

**xoxo Dandy**

* * *

"We have to take the subway," Feliciano protested.

Ludwig glanced at the eloquently dressed Frenchman, waiting for his opinion. Said Frenchman was pulling his silky blonde hair into a short pony tail, and fixing his shirt. The German shrugged, and nodded at his Italian partner.

"Ja," he nodded, plucking his wallet from the counter.

Francis smiled, "Let us get start our day, oui?"

* * *

"How different is Manhattan from Queens, Feli?"Francis asked curiously. The three took a seat in the vacant spots, and Ludwig plugged one of his ears with an earphone, deciding that while he adored his talkative boyfriend, he didn't need a geography lesson at the moment. Francis smiled at the German who nodded.

"It's not very different, if I think so. It's still New York, and New York is great!"

The Italian started ranting about restaurants Ludwig had taken the Italian for their dates in Queens, which lead Feliciano to comment about every pasta dish he had tried. Francis nodded, still mesmerized at how much the young man still loved his pasta. Back when Francis had still been in school with his cousin, the teachers had begun thinking of banning the Italian from whipping a pasta dish for all his finals, but they were perfectly made and spiced, that some teachers just couldn't deny it.

"Oh! And you're going to meet Luddy's big brother! He's not like fratello, and he says that he's…uh…Ludwig?"

Ludwig grunted, "Awesome."

"SI! Si! Gilbert is what he calls awesome. He and Ludwig own a pub in one of the quieter areas. He used to date a lot of pretty women, right Ludwig? He had a girlfriend named Eliza, or something, but now he's going out with a really nice blonde named Mark, I think. I think you will like Gilbert."

"Does he cook?"

"No, but he makes really good cocktails! I wish Ludwig would move the bar to Manhattan, but Luddy says it is too expensive."

"Feliciano, it IS," Ludwig interjected.

"Are you both just bartenders?" Francis asked.

"Nein. Mein bruder is, but that's because he dropped out of college. I am a part time personal trainer," the blue-eyed German explained. "I don't watch over the bar that much, but I pay my share. Gilbert is quite childish sometimes, saying I don't do my part. It was his idea, dammit."

The conversation slowly drifted to comparisons between the Italian restaurants in the city, then Francis asked about the French cuisine which Feliciano seemed to suddenly want to dwell immensely upon. Ludwig slowly drifted away from the conversation, half listening to his music, and half thinking about the two other Europeans' success.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Alfred narrowed his eyes are his boss.

His boss narrowed his eyes back.

Both were substantial attorneys in the city, and both knew they were in a deadlock agreement.

"Why, Mr. Jones, should I agree?"

"I don't even have a case coming up! I can read fuc-in paperwork there."

"Is there a reason you need an impromptu 3 day vacation."

"I am allowed vacation time when I don't have a case, _Sir._ It's in my contract, article 9."

"I am aware, Mr. Jones," the boss said humbly.

"I just finished a deal the past weekend. I have not taken an extra vacation in quite some time."

"Mmm…"

"Sir."

Alfred's boss tapped his pen against his stiff upper lip. "We're only about one month until December, and then you get a rather large break there. I am aware you are allowed a break, but is it such a convenient time. You know I have to approve it, of course."

"Sir!" the American leaped from his seat, un-amused.

"Sit down, Jones. That wasn't my final thought."

Alfred took his seat.

"Well, I can't really deny you if you aren't needed. You're one of my best, Jones."

The bespectacled lawyer gasped.

"You're back here next Wednesday. Any luck, and you'll be right at work. No complaints, got it?"

Alfred nodded ecstatically.

"YES SIR!"

* * *

"MATTIE~!"

Alfred proudly swung his briefcase as he strutted into the brothers' flat. As the tell-tale red sweater was hanging from the chair, he could tell his brother was home. Matthew wasn't needed at the office today, and spent the morning running errands instead around Manhattan. Alfred set his stuff on the counter and opened the fridge to pull out a RedBull. He called his brother's name once more, wondering if Matthew had fallen asleep somewhere.

"MATTHEW WILLIAM-JONES!"

Alfred's brother groaned sleepily from his office at the sound of his rambunctious brother's callings. Matthew rubbed his eyes, and telling from his scrunched up t-shirt, Alfred could conclude the man had been working, and then fallen asleep. As Alfred threw in two Pop-Tarts into the toaster, Matthew put his glasses back on and took a seat in one of the barstools of the kitchen counter.

"Why. Did. You. Call?"

"I'm hungry," Alfred smiled.

His brother was no amused. "I'm not your fuc-ing maid, Alfred. Besides, you just put in two of the those sad-excuses for pastries in the toaster!"

"Well, it's almost time for dinner anyway…"

"Make you own food!"

"C'mon, Mattie, you know you love to cook!"

"If you're going to wake me up just for food, then fuc- you!" Matthew stepped down from the stool to leave before Alfred grabbed his shoulder.

"I'm kidding, bro, sit down. I have some news."

Matthew raised his eyebrow, and sighed, nodding. He went to the sink to fill a glass of water and waited intently for his brother's 'news'.

"Boss man's giving me and extended weekend!"

"So?"

"I say we make it a trip to Queens and-!"

"You just want to see Arthur." Matthew said bluntly.

Alfred spluttered, caught off guard. "Well…"

"Admit it, Al. You're so desperate to see him you pleaded for an early vacation." The violet-eyed brother scoffed.

"Mat-"

"I'll call my boss then." Matthew smiled.

Alfred hugged his brother. "You're the best!"

* * *

"Queens REALLY isn't that far from Manhattan. Are you really booking a hotel room?"

"I'm not driving back and forth."

"I don't think Gil would mind that much if-"

"Ew, no, I am not sleeping on that kraut's couch."

"If you're lucky, Art-"

"I'm a gentleman," Alfred protested.

"Psh, yeah right."

"I'm classy! I just want one date with him. I'm not planning to bed him."

"As if he'd let you," Matthew laughed, drizzling his pancakes with syrup. In the end, Matthew ended up putting together his infamous pancake batter, and the two were having breakfast for dinner. Alfred had made some bacon, but at this point, he was the only true consumer of them. There was just something about the way the strips of pork leaked so much fat and oil that turned Matthew off. Alfred chomped on his 13th strip of bacon, his brother just shuddered at the gushing of oil.

"Hey, Matthew?" Alfred said in a lower voice.

"What's up, Al?"

He wasn't sure how he was going to approach this topic.

In high school, Alfred was an all-around Golden Boy. He couldn't even count how many girls he had gone out with, even when he ended things, everyone still loved him. He rarely asked others out because he was usually the victim of others' crushes. When he'd been studying in university, he suddenly realized his attraction toward the same sex as well, and it terrified him a bit. Now, he rarely accepted dates and dinners with the cheerleaders and attempted to bond with his classmates. During his post-secondary education, he'd gone out with a few guys, but never did It really evolve into something. Alfred was shaking in his slacks at the idea of asking out a practical STRANGER on a date.

"Do you think Arthur would even go out to dinner with me?" he whispered.

"He might be a hard nut to crack, I'll admit, but I don't know him. And he doesn't know you. He might give you a chance."

Alfred nodded. "I'll go all out. If he accepts, it'll be the best date, ever! I'll make it the best!"

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

_"Oh, sweet, am I speaking to the American idiot?"_

_"Hey! Who are you calling an idiot, Drunkard!"_

_"I'm hanging up now~!" Gilbert mocked in a sing-song voice._

_"WAIT! Don't!" _

_"Then be nice to me," Gilbert sighed. "Vhat do you want?"_

_"Arthur's number?"_

_"I don't know. I am his friend. I don't just go around giving my friends' numbers to obnoxious lawyers. You don't intimidate me, boy."_

_"B-B-But I have his shirt to give him! Yeah!"_

_"Just give it to Birdie, and exahnge it. I can come to Manhattan if you want."_

_"NO!"_

_"Ha, you want to see Arthur, don't you?" _

_Alfred tightened his grip on his brother's BlackBerry."N-"_

_"Look, I don't hate you, and quite frankly, I think Mister English Professor spend all his time with his cat at home. I won't give you his number, because that would just creep him out. If you're ever in the area, come and see me, and I'll tell him you want to give him back his shirt-"_

_"AW, SWEET MAN-"_

_"But, Mister Powerful Lawyer, listen."_

_Alfred stopped cheering and looked at his brother in fear. Matthew just shrugged. They had the phone on speaker now._

_"I like Arthur. He's a good man, even if he's a bad drunk, and usually has a stick up his arse. I've known him for almost 4 years now, and still, I don't know his past. There's something that looms over him, like a past memory or curse. You have be sensitive to that. I doubt you would have caught anything just from being with him for 20 minutes or so. ALSO, he's never been in a relationship, or so I know of, so if it turns out to be full-fledged straight, then that sucks for you Pretty Boy. FINALLY, if you even think of hurting my little English friend, that will be the last time you speak to my drinking buddy, ja?"_

_Matthew thought the details were reasonable. Alfred nodded._

_"Yeah, man. Thanks."_


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry for the stalling . _ . Welp, here is a very cliche/random/probably-only-in-movies reunion...**

* * *

Flash Forward to Friday-

_To: Peter  
From: Ma & Pa_

_Our beloved son,_

_It pains us to write to you with such heartbreaking news. We understand you were looking forward to spending the holidays as a family, but due to financial problems, that just won't be possible this year. Your Pa is hoping you will be able to fly back to Sweden in March for your spring break. The holiday flight rates are soaring, and the business just isn't. Please understand we love you, Peter, and it hurts us as much as it hurt you. You will be receiving a special gift from the two us in December. Please keep writing to us. _

_Many hugs and kisses,_

_Ma & Pa_

_To: Ma & Pa  
From: Peter_

_Ma, Pa,_

_Let me tell you this- you two are amazing parents. You raised me up, and allowed me such an amazing childhood. You gave me the chance to be educated in AMERICA, even though the price was so much more than if I had stayed in Sweden. I love you with all my heart, and even if I will miss the Swedish winter, nothing would ever stop me from loving you. I've met amazing people here in New York, and I'm almost 20, so I know how to live. Don't send a gift that's beyond your budget just for my sake, Ma. I will make sure to be online December 24__th__ for a webcam session ,okay? _

_Your Loving son, Peter_

After hitting the 'Enter' button on his laptop, Peter exhaled heavily, and turned off his computer. He didn't want to admit it, but now it felt like his Christmas was a bit ruined. But the boy never wanted to look at like that. He was more than thankful for all that his parents did for him, and unlike some of his fellow classmates, who were raised with a silver spoon in their mouths, he was grateful just to have survived school. Okay, so he would be missing a family Christmas, but at least he had food in his mouth, AND a roof over his head.

He was lucky, he told himself.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"…He's more European than you, man," Gilbert drawled, stirring his hazardous alcohol mixture.

The German brother had left his iPhone on speaker, and was continuing his 30 minute and continuing rant to his British friend. While Arthur rarely said anything or comment, Gilbert could hear some breathing and sighs of disapproval, but at least he was listening.

Probably.

"The dude dresses like a chick, and has the hair to match. But he's got amazing taste in drinks. Dude man, how unawesome! He thinks he's bedded more dudes and chicks than me! THE AWESOME ME! How dare he even consider that possible?

His cooking is nothing to belittle though. I see why he's so freaking famous in France or wherever his cheeky butt came from. And that's saying something when you compare it to that little Italian mein bruder is dating. Those two would wipe all other cooks off the face of the earth."

A rustle signifying breathing was Arthur's answer. Gilbert didn't really know what the man was doing on his end of the receiver, but it was probably something important.

"ANY WHO, I think he's here for a few more days. I think he's a bit too proud of himself, but maybe you two should meet, and reminisce over things foreigners reminisce over!"

"I AM NOT A FOREIGNER, GIT!"

"I don't know, dude," Gilbert chuckled, finally getting a word out of the other man. "Your accent is as English as ever."

"THAT"S BECAUSE I AM!"

"Tut tut, Artie. Calm yo man tits."

"GILB-"

"GOTS TO GO. THIS IS THE AWESOME GILBERT OUT!" The bartender punched the red button on his call and swallowed his concoction, choking aweseomely as the thick liquid downed quickly.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

He hummed rather loudly with the rock song blasting from his prized stereo set. The blonde flipped through some of the documents of paperwork that would need to be read and looked over, bobbing his head as Aerosmith screeched and hit the high note. Alfred gave the stack of papers a grimace and slapped them on top of his overnight bag.

"I can get these done on the ride over," Alfred mumbled, grabbing a pen off his desk and dropping it into the bag as well.

All morning he had been frantic over nothing more than a weekend sleepover in a borough over. He had stocked up on his favourite candy bars and went all out on the outfits he could fit in his old football duffle. While his brother was off on the phone discussing the weekend schedule with their driver, Rick, Alfred had locked himself in his room and gone through everything again.

1) His outfit to ask Arthur out

2) Arthur's shirt as a conversation starter

3) Date clothes

4) Million-dollar smile if all else fails!

Smirking to himself, the renowned lawyer collapsed on his bed and sighed a breath of relief. He couldn't pinpoint exactly why, but when he thought back, he couldn't help but think of the first thing he'd ever said to the Brit.

_"W-Whoa there, man!" _

Maybe that hadn't been the most pleasant thing to say when you met someone. But Alfred was pissed off and tired, he had a meeting early in the morning and his boss had been a jerk!

Alfred reached out to open his drawer, and pulled out the shirt Arthur had lent him.

It wasn't because he was extremely creepy, or what not, but even though the shirt was 2 sizes too small for the American, and telling from the tag, it was just from a Gap retailer, it felt soft and worn, and overall…right.

"I wonder why he thinks about my shirt…"

* * *

"Ugh, why don't you just disappear!?" Arthur groaned, glaring at the shirt again.

While part of him hoped that by the rather pricey piece of clothing was there, Alfred would find a reason to see him again. But everything from the material, to the telltale tag of its luxury reminded Arthur too much of _him. _He really didn't need the reminder of that vile man from his past.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"Alfred."

Removing his sunglasses, Alfred smiled childishly at his brother. Matthew narrowed his eyes.

"I thought we agreed you were going to see Gilbert FIRST."

"Aw, c'mon, it's Saturday! He's got to be home. How unromantic would it be to just appear without surprise? I bet he's probably feeding his cat or something. It's Saturday, for Lord's sake!"

Before Matthew could strangle his brother, the other brother had grabbed his duffle and bolted out the limousine doors. Rick saluted at his employer and drove off to Gilbert's bar. Alfred smiled up at the brink building, feet giddy to reach Arthur's floor.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

_Knock! Knock! _

No answer.

Alfred frowned, knocking again with his right hand, and punching the doorbell with the left. Arthur's building hadn't needed someone to buzz him in, but the door to his flat was shut, and with no answer, Alfred started to worry about Arthur's presence.

The American didn't feel like giving up, and knocked louder this time. Maybe the Brit was asleep?

Without true intent, his hand grabbed the knob and he turned, marvelled that the door was unlocked. Alfred scanned the hallway, making sure no one assumed he was breaking and entering. When the coast was clear, the lawyer rushed in and shut the door.

"Arthur…?"

No answer.

He knew he wasn't in the wrong flat, the same pictures up and the same bookshelf standing. Alfred paced in cautiously, dropping his bag.

"…._Meow?"_

A small cat, whose fur was mainly white but had blotches of a light burnt orange walked slowly up to the American. Alfred felt the tug that allowed his lips to form a smile.

"Aw, are you Arthur's cat?"

"MEOW!"

And the cat attacked.

* * *

"Bloody hell, Britannia, you had better eat this time!"

Grumbling, Arthur looked warily at the new can of tuna he had bought from the nearby market. He had just finished his morning jog before visiting the shelter, and decided to pick up a new can of cat food. Lately, Britannia hadn't felt a reason to eat the dry stuff. Arthur pulled out his earphones and tucked them into the pockets of his gym shorts.

Even though he was down the hall, the Briton suddenly felt alert when he heard the familiar screeching of a cat. His instincts kicked in, knowing an intruder must have broken him. Blast that broken lock!

Arthur bolted and pushed his door open, only to be greeted by a tall blonde trying to fend off Arthur's sweet kitty.

"Motherfuc-er!" The two men exclaimed in unison.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N :Yee, semi-filler :) **

**This one is uh... WELL I HOPE IT GETS THE STORY MOVING . _ . OR AT LEAST that's what I thought LOL while typing it out. Think what you wish :) CUE THE CLICHÉ!/shot :P **

* * *

"_MOTHERFUC-ER!"_

Alfred hissed in anguish as Britannia's not-so-much blunt claw pressed against his tanned skin. It wasn't like he was completely weak, and he was sure Arthur would have at least made sure his feline friend was void of any diseases or such, but it still hurt like a bit-h. His hand instantaneously clutched onto the marking, and he had to restrain himself was strangling the green-eyed cat that was probably smiling smugly in its head. His eyes narrowed down as the feline licked his paw unaffected. He had been so preoccupied by the sting of the cat's sudden hormonal craze- or so Alfred labelled it-, he hadn't realized another familiar voice blend into his own as he cussed out his pain.

The entire coherency in Arthur's rather adept brain seemed to dwindle as he realized Alfred was in his freaking apartment. He felt speechless as he tried to register any possible reason as to why he wasn't yelling or swearing or even physically compelling the American to get the cheeses OUT! He glanced back and forth between Alfred checking his hands and patting his face from still-red lines that his cat had for some reason decided was necessary. Arthur emptied out his pockets and set the can of food down. He approached Alfred slowly, looking the man in the eyes.

Britannia sensed the atmosphere rather easily. She was raised after all by an analytical person. She hissed under her breath at the intruder and cozied up to her owner's bare legs.

Alfred's head went up as he felt Arthur beside him. He waved weakly to the Briton.

Arthur blinked. The man broke into his house and he had the audacity to WAVE?!

"WHAT THE HELL?! GET OUT. GET OUT. GET OUT!" Suddenly, embarrassment and his hard-to-crack-nut self registered.

"WAIT!" Alfred protested, grabbing his bag before Arthur could shove the taller man out the poorly locked door. Finally his mentality snapped back and he remembered why he was here. _Or at least the less creepy version as to why he was here._ "I brought you your shirt!"

"YOU COULD HAVE MAILED IT FOR ALL I BLOODY CARED. WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND BREAKS INTO SOMEONE'S HOME FOR SOMETHING SO MINIMAL?!"

Britannia seemed amused as she pawed to allow Arthur to scoop her up.

"Not my fault you need to get your door fixed," the blue eyed man grumbled, unzipping his bag. Arthur sighed loudly in the intruder to his home, Arthur reached out for Britannia.

"That thing is a demon from the bottom of Hell," Alfred mumbled to himself as he rifled through for Arthur's shirt.

"You aren't so innocent yourself. Breaking and entering? I should sue," Arthur snapped, holding the canine to his body.

"Go ahead and try."

"Tch," the Brit sneered, walking away. "Get out and never come back."

Alfred rolled his eyes and pulled out the folded shirt.

"Here."

Arthur's green eyes landed on his old shirt, and then looked up to Alfred. The lawyer forced a weak smile of peace, and waved the shirt. The cat growled in annoyance, receiving a glare from the American.

_It was just a simple gesture of common courtesy,_ Arthur thought. He nodded, and set the cat down, displeasing it in the process. Britannia scampered off in anguish, going into hiding again.

"Wait here. I have your shirt as well." Arthur sighed in defeat.

X-X-X-X-X-X

"It's uh…in good condition!" Alfred piped, nodding at his shirt.

"Well of course it is!"

"Hey, it was a compliment. I barely know you. For all I know you could have washed it in with your jeans!" Alfred defended.

"I would never mix silk with denim!"

"Well that's nice to know! I usually give my shirts to the guy down the road to clean-"

"Yes, yes, you rich people have people who have people to do things. Yes ,yes." Arthur drawled, heading towards the door. "It was not nice seeing you. Good day." He pulled the door ajar and gestured bluntly out.

"I sort of want to stay."

"No. Absolutely not. I have a life you know," Arthur said in a firm voice.

"Come on, Artie! It's like 10 in the morning. One cup of coffee?"

"I'll have you know I don't drink that bitter crap."

"Then you drink what all Brits drink! UH, tea? And I'll have water." Alfred nudged the air, smiling cheekily. He could tell by the aura the Brit radiated that he wasn't one to be a bad host. Despite how much he would claim to hate the American, he still had a persona of a polite person to uphold. "Surely you don't want to leave a guest un-welcomed."

Arthur was furious. How dare the man use personal values toward him? Granted, he was one of the best in his department. Grimacing in disgust, Arthur nodded. "You'll have one cup of cocoa, and explain to me in full about your presence."

"I already told you-"

"And for the record though, you _aren't _welcomed."

* * *

The casual clinking of Arthur's tiny spoon hitting against the porcelain mug was the only sound emanating from the small kitchenette as he continued to draw large circles in his Earl Grey. Alfred rocked his head back and forth slowly as he wrapped his long fingers around the mug of cocoa that Arthur had given him. He felt a bit honoured that the Briton hadn't just given him tap water, and reasonably pleased that he wasn't given tea. Alfred despised the dried-leaves-turned warm drink idea. As for the general atmosphere, the lawyer had been in these situations before, and he always hated them. He found it amusing when people assumed he was just dense, however.

There had been one with this ex-girlfriend and meeting her overprotective father, and that time he was being questioned from his superior as to why he chose to use "heroic" font (strictly 'Alien Encounters'*) for his documents. The former had been scary as hell, and the latter revoked his privileges to design the letters to clients. Alfred sucked in a breath and looked up at Alfred.

"You said you had plans, today…?"

"Yes, and I am a very committed person. If you would please explain your presence, I'll see you out, and you can call your driver and whatever, I don't care, and I can get back on schedule and-"

"For an English prof, you really like to run on about things."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he knew the younger man had a point. After putting together the cocoa, Arthur had excused himself to change out of his jogging gear and into something less casual. The green-eyed blonde had pulled on a grey t-shirt and maroon cardigan, but now he realized he should have kept with the t-shirt only. Just being within Alfred's close proximity was making Arthur feel uncomfortable, face and body reddening, and he had a vague idea as to why, but for now all he could do was muster up and keep his un-impressed scowl and get the git _out._

"I'm an English professor, but we all have our mistakes-"

"Where do you teach?" Alfred asked suddenly, bringing the cup of cocoa to his lips. As the thick liquid ran into his mouth, he felt his taste buds pull back at the _new _taste. He wasn't accommodated with the flavour. He remembered cocoa being sweet and homey. This tasted like tar-water, actually…Maybe it was British thing, Alfred though. He shrugged it off, trying to be polite and emptied the cup in a flurry.

Arthur ignored the question. "Why are you here?"

"What're you going to do today?"

"Why?"

"Where?" Alfred pressed. He scratched his head, trying to think where this was going.

"I'm seconds from kicking you out. Damn my gentleman self."

"I'll come with!"

"I'm meeting someone!" Arthur blurted, choking on his tea slightly when the words left his mouth.

Alfred wasn't expecting that. He smiled, retaining his composure, but slightly pissed off. "Oh?"

"Have you ever been told you're a tad too invasive, Mr. Jones?"

"I'm a lawyer."

Touché, Arthur thought. He set his tea cup down. "Well, it's someone…but also a few someones…but still there's a someone there in particular-…" For some reason, Arthur felt the need to explain himself, even though he had caught the slight nano-second of Alfred's panicked face.

"I'm free. I'm coming with!"

"WAIT-"

"NO WAITS. Where are we going, Artie?"

"WE?!"

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Alfred hummed quietly as the two walked side by side in the sunny Saturday morning. Arthur had his hands jammed into his pocket, mumbling words under his breath, blowing soft puffs of air in doing so. The American had bought a cup of coffee on the way, trying to get rid of the tar-water like cocoa he had been served earlier. As the Englishman tried to keep his pace a bit unaligned with Alfred's, the lawyer found himself comply, and slowed his own walk so that the two weren't _exactly _walking like a couple.

"_Are you even attracted to Arthur, Al?" Matthew asked, as the two loaded their overnight bags into the limousine._

_"I want to ask him out…does that mean I am?"_

It didn't feel like Alfred was attracted to Arthur. Alfred never truly understood what it meant to like someone, never finding and understanding the thin line between wanting to be friends, and wanting more that platonic friendship. He racked through his brain, and all he got was that Arthur was a man who poured beer on him as an introduction. Then somehow, his realization of being lonely drew him closer to the man who had not seemed like the type to ever want to be with him. It was a weird way to think, actually, Alfred told himself. Maybe it was just too long that he _hadn't _been in a relationship. Arthur didn't run in his circles, and for all he knew, would probably never. That pleased him in a way. From what Gilbert told him, Arthur used to be a foreigner, and had a completely different lifestyle. Was that what drew the American to convince himself to ask Arthur out…?

There was definitely something else about Arthur that was peculiar…

* * *

All Arthur had said was that he was going to see some kids, so Alfred assumed he meant some students. Maybe Arthur tutored some, or he was meeting with a TA. Alfred remembered how helpful those students had been.

But no- Alfred was rather off…

"Well? Don't just stand there. If you're coming to visit, then come in!" Arthur snapped, holding the door.

Alfred nodded, dropping his empty coffee cup into the wire bin near the door.

"Y-You help out here?"

"Every Monday, Wednesday, Saturday."

"I met you Sunday. You got drunk after visiting them last week?"

Arthur snorted. "I didn't last week. Last week was….special."

"Oh?"

"Let's just say it was a birthday or sorts, mmkay?"

Alfred nodded.

"Go on and sign in as a Visitor. Just say you're with me. Vash'll let you in. I'll be right out." Arthur figured the instructions were simple enough for an esteemed lawyer that Alfred apparently was. As the lawyer peered over the front desk, Arthur stepped into Lilli's open office and knocked.

Lilli had been watering one of the kids' plants, and jumped slightly.

"Artie!" she squealed setting her watering pot down. "You look rather flustered today."

"Don't ask." Arthur coughed. "Anyways, I've got amazing news for you!"

* * *

After a rather chilling interrogation, Alfred had pried a 'Visitor' pass from the stern front deskman. He could hear the laughter of kids from a few doors down, but right now all he was looking for was Arthur. He remembered he had turned left at-

"I love you, y'know?" a shorter blonde girl shrilled, wrapping her arms around Arthur. She looked about a few years younger than Alfred himself, and beautiful in the sense of innocence and purity. The girl had huge green eyes- a bit lighter than Arthur's own pair, and wore a pretty pink sweater dress for the autumn months. As Arthur hugged her back tightly, the girl- who looked about 22, or 23, stood on the tip of her toes and pressed her small pink lips on Arthur's cheeks.

Alfred just continued down the hall to where the kids were supposedly playing in, pretending he'd seen nothing.

* * *

Afterword:

-*Alien Encounters was a font I found on my computer LOL  
-Ohdatclichecliffhanger/bricked :D I don't know how it ended up there, but it did... hurhur.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Haha...yeah...you might be wondering why I'm splitting this chapter into 2...heheh...**

**Well, the main reason is because I'd set the chapter to fill all that I wanted it to, and I wrote more than I'd expected for a chapter...LOL ): So, I know I could just write one long chapter, but I'm stubborn and weird like that (._.) Don't judge. Part two should be up soon (:**

**&& I'm pretty sure at this point I can still keep it a T-rating...? Probably :D?**

* * *

"Heaven have mercy that was _loud. _AND I'm around my brother when the Stanley Cup is on. Gosh," Alfred whined, slapping his ear to find his normal hearing back.

Arthur chewed thoughtfully on the peace of gum in his mouth, arching his finger into his ear. With a 'pop', he rolled out a pair of earplugs that he'd had on, earning a wide-eyed facial expression from Alfred. The Briton just shrugged as he pulled on his coat, tucking the ear plugs back into a plastic container. Vash was busy on the computer, nodding as he acknowledged the two blondes leaving. Arthur pointed to Alfred's name tag, and jerked his head to the front deskman.

"Oh! Right," the blue eyed nodded. Arthur decided to use this time to wish Lilli a good weekend. He poked his head into the room Lilli was arranging snacks, and saluted the young lady.

"It's awesome that you managed to get Peter to help out around here," she smiled warmly, truly delighted.

"The boy's alone in a big city. He could sure use the company." The professor waved as he heard Alfred's footsteps approaching. "Have a good weekend, poppet."

"You too, Artie! I'll see you Monday," Lilli responded, refocusing back on the crackers she was aligning. Arthur closed the door behind him in case of a few straggler kids that smelled food. The shorter man bumped into Alfred's taller stature as he turned around. A muffled 'oomph' slipped from the Englishman's lips.

"Hey," Alfred said softly. "Sorry about that. Haha." The lawyer grabbed Arthur's shoulders and pushed him off gently. "I thought you walked out of the building before me, but then I heard your cute little accent."

Arthur flustered at the comment, shaking his head. "Just saying goodbye to Lilli."

"She's pretty."

"Indeedly so," Arthur nodded, not making eye contact with the American. He just took the lead in walking out of the building, putting his hands back into his pockets. Alfred trailed behind silently, and at first it was a nice change, but then Arthur found it even more unnerving. As he pushed the door open, and held it for the American to walk out as well, something in him, probably his conscience- pulled on Alfred's jacket.

"Why the sudden quiet?"

Alfred blinked before realizing how he hadn't said anything in a while. Arthur's eyes looked concerned, and for a second it reminded him of a former counselor the lawyer had had during his school years. After a pregnant pause, Alfred's confused face vanished, replaced with a look of mischief.

"You. Me. We're getting drunk."

The green eyes on Arthur's face tripled in size at the idea that came out of Alfred's lips.

"IT'S NOT EVEN 2 IN THE AFTERNOON-"

"Too late!" Alfred cheered, waving a cab down.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

His arms were tangled in the blonde's hair, moaning as their moist lips fought and battled for dominance. The shorter man melted and molded to fit the sculpted body that the other man had, running his hands down his hips and fisting the shirt with need, ignoring his common sense. It was euphoria, and for both it seemed like a long time coming. All they had been doing was talking about their nonchalant lives, and all of a sudden, they were pressed hungrily against the wall of the bar, grabbing and whimpering at everything, connected by the urgency. They would part their lips for a split second to gasp for air, before they found themselves attached to each other once more, and both men could feel their blood drop south. Their bodies acted in unison, and their mentality was somewhat lost in the makeout session.

"You're so hot," the bespectacled man groaned, tightening his grasp on the other. He arched his neck as the two lips disjoined, the other man moving down. In that moment, his partner pressed wet and soft kisses down his jaw, sucking and biting carefully at each kiss.

"…God, I think I love you," the other man said. It was clear at that point who had won in means of dominance. He picked up his kiss-ee, and urged him to wrap his legs around his own body. The other easily complied, moaning softly at the touches, the kisses, the moment…

Bile rose up Arthur's throat as he stared at the scene in front of him. Alfred froze for a quick second, before bolting out of the doorway of Gilbert's bar. It was only appropriate for Arthur to run out after him.

Gilbert and Matt didn't seem to notice. As soon as Gilbert had successfully removed Matt's shirt, the latter shivered.

"Oh, crap, the door's open," he whispered in confusion. He dropped his hold on his boyfriend to inspect the outside-

"Ugh, whatever," Mattie sighed, kicking the door closed with anger, due to the fact Gilbert had stopped. "C'mon, let's move this upstairs."

* * *

Arthur chuckled as Alfred slammed for the eighteenth time his head against Arthur's apartment walls. Alfred was groaning about seeing something that would 'haunt him all the way back to Virginia', not noticing his acquaintance pull out a basket of shot glasses from his cupboard. Arthur dropped the basket on the counter, causing Alfred to stop his whining for a split second. His face paled in colour, before smirking and nudging Arthur.

"Heh heh, someone likes their drinks, huh?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I don't splurge on drinks. In fact, I rarely go each week besides going for one weak beer. Ask Gilbert. My teacher's salary isn't sufficient enough to supply such an alcoholic lifestyle." He began setting out the glasses, each one different than the other. Alfred's eyebrow rose in interest, picking up the glasses and turning then to inspect their origin. He wasn't surprised to see many of those glasses with 'LONDON, UK' scrawled on, the ones you often find in trinket shops. But he _was _shocked to see one from Dylan's Candy Bar, and the Disney Store. Alfred was slight bemused- he just couldn't picture the rather guarded Brit be in such vibrant shops. He was about to comment when Arthur continued his statement.

"_However, _there is always a time for something to just knock you out." And with that Arthur opened his sink cupboards and pulled out two large bottles of strong gin. "Imported from my home country: finest there is to me."

Alfred nodded approvingly. What Arthur held in his hands were definitely nice quality, and exactly what he needed. The Brit began uncorking the bottle, and filling up the glasses.

"You can't afford to have more than 2 or 3 drinks a week at Gilbert's, but you're willing to buy _this?"_

"Let's say it was gift." Arthur picked up a glass and chugged it.

Alfred picked up a glass unsure. Here he was in a practically stranger-turned-almost-friend's home, about to get wasted incredibly so.

Eh, why not.

"Well, don't stop on my account," Alfred winked, emptying the glass and slamming it for more. "Screw it being only 3 in the afternoon!"

* * *

"_Go out with me, PLEASE," Alfred giggled in his intoxicated state. The Brit in front of him was seconds from falling, he could tell. Early on, he'd been given a very emotional speech by the Briton about some dude from years ago that Alfred assumed Arthur had something with. First there was Lilli- which he refused to think was something more, even with the allegations, and now there was some British dude from Britain that Arthur apparently couldn't get his head away from._

_"G-G-guh, what?" Arthur responded, collapsing on the floor. _

_Alfred's body tumbled to the sink, emptying his upset stomach before blacking out as well._

* * *

Afterword:

Was anyone trolled by the makeout session LOL (-fp) It's sad when I was too, forgotten that it was Mattie(/bricked) I was writing about. Had to fix things ): Sorry Canada!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Things are finally getting somewhere! HALLELUJAH! Many thanks for the support :D **

* * *

"Here, have another," Arthur grumbled, shaking out another Tylenol tablet for the American who was currently downing the third cup of coffee they'd paid Starbucks an extra $75 to deliver. Alfred cussed under his breath at his painstaking hangover, his head on a pillow.

The two had woken up to a hellish headache, and both didn't want to move. Eventually, they'd each taken a cushion and Alfred pulled out his phone, searching up the nearest coffee shop with some app, and convinced the manager he would pay more to have it delivered. Once the travel box of coffee had arrived, the two had coerced the poor delivery boy to grab the bottle of extra strength Tylenol from Arthur's medicine cabinet.

And now the two were currently in fetal position, waiting for the pain reliever to kick in.

"Ugh…" Alfred mumbled, trying to think properly. "That stuff was amazing, but it's evil."

"You could have stopped whenever. I don't even remember what we said or did." Arthur groaned, wrinkling his nose as he continued drinking his cup of coffee. Unlike the American, he was still on his first cup, barely halfway done.

Alfred nodded, though after the coffee had arrived, he was slowly getting memories back, some he couldn't decipher it they were hallucinations or not.

Arthur was only focused on numbing his headache. He lay on the floor motionless, eyes shut.

"Hey, Artie?"

"Spit it out, git, my head is throbbing immensely."

"Do you want to go to dinner?"

Arthur chucked the closed bottle of pain relievers at the American.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

The ticking of the second hand of Arthur's clock seemed to grow louder in volume as the owner buttoned and unbuttoned his shirt repeatedly. He knew a few walls down, Alfred was gargling mouthwash to rid the taste of vomit from his mouth, and he too was also changing for dinner. How this escalated was beyond Arthur, but with his head throbbing, and his stomach hungry from emptying its complaints earlier, the offer sounded mostly innocent. He glanced at the clock that red 8:56pm, and sighed, buttoning up his shirt for the last time. The English blond tousled his hair and grabbed an old dinner jacket. He didn't know where the heck Alfred was planning to go, but he hoped for his sake it was somewhere modest.

"Alfred?" he called, knocking on the washroom door.

"ONE SEC!~" Alfred's jovial voice sang. Obviously, his hangover had been disappearing well. Arthur tapped his foot impatiently and checked the Tag Heuer watch he had clasped under his sleeve. Dinner wasn't unusual at this time of day, on a Saturday no less, but he really didn't appreciate eating out so late.

Call Arthur an old man if you consider past 10 early.

"THE HERO IS READY," Alfred boomed as he swung the washroom door with much gusto, a proud smile on his face. It was a blinding smile; the one Alfred could muster up in times like these. He had on a crisp navy and white gingham shirt that Arthur recognized from many of those wealthy prep-school boys, with his dark grey blazer, sleeves pushed up. With his age and physical stature, Arthur was slightly jealous that Alfred made a rather casual ensemble look put-together. The lawyer tucked his wallet inside his blazer and lead the way out. Arthur breathed heavily, but followed. Britannia hissed from the corner at the American, licking her claws with intent. Arthur pretended to ignore the cat. Alfred grimaced at Britannia, hand running on his cheek from the visibly red line near his jugular.

The two walked down the flight of stairs, mustering up random words. You could tell both were slightly awkward in the situation, but Alfred tried to pay it no mind. He encouraged Arthur that they were just friends, and Alfred was just returning the favour for using up Arthur's expensive alcohol.

"Anyone ever told you have huge-ass eyebrows?" Alfred chuckled as he waved down a cab. This was probably the third or fourth cab they'd taken. Arthur was so used to walking or bussing to places, unless of course he was running late.

Arthur rubbed his temples.

"It's a weird thing. It's not hereditary, if you're wondering. I don't originate from a bunch of 'huge-ass eyebrow' parents. They just are what they are. In fact, one my best students have rather large eyebrows as well."

Alfred laughed, "I mean, they're monstrous. But they sort of suit you…" The American clicked the cab door open, gesturing for Arthur to get in.

Arthur 'tch-ed', and slid into the cab. Alfred moved in beside him, and ordered the cab to the restaurant of his choosing. The name sounded very foreign to the Englishman, but he never really went beyond his community, least of all for dinner. He had assumed Alfred was new to the borough that wasn't Manhattan, but either the man had Google-Mapped something, or he was much more knowledgeable about New York than Arthur gave him credit for.

"Where is that?" Arthur asked curiously. "I rarely go out."

"Oh, you're a cooker?"

Arthur chuckled, "If I do say so myself. But, Gilbert has me convinced takeout is the way to go, and I agree with him because it's less time consuming. Are we going a favourite of your's?"

Alfred gave him another megawatt smile. "There's one like in Manhattan, and I LOVE it."

"What type of cuisine?"

"Oh, everything," the lawyer drooled. He could see Arthur fluster at the thought, and that told him he was on the right track about making sure the professor had a great time at dinner. From what he'd been told, teachers made many numbers less than esteemed lawyers. There was probably only a small chance Arthur had even heard of the restaurant Alfred was directing the driver to. The prices were incredibly steep, but for a first date (Alfred was secretly calling it that, even If he did tell Arthur it was just a dinner with friends), he wanted to go all out.

Actually, he didn't know what Arthur had in preference for food. He had texted Matthew in the washroom about where English people ate. The brother had simply flipped Alfred off over text about his ignorance. If Alfred had a personal say, he would have taken Arthur to McDonalds, a secret fetish of the lawyer's. Nowadays, he was invited to lunch so often during his working days that he spent cumulative amounts of money on $30 sandwiches and $20 soups. His colleagues all seemed to look down upon fast food, and Alfred was quite young compared to them all. It was unseemly to suggest going to McDonalds, or anything considered 'middle class'. For Arthur's case, he'd actually considered going somewhere more comfy and less pricey to not flaunt his wealth, but from the nice shots they'd had, he now was under the pretense that Arthur had secretly high tastes.

And Alfred was willing to feed it.

Arthur pulled out his phone and played a mindless game of hangman as Alfred continued to direct the driver down the darkened sky.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X-X

_Blink one. Blink two. Blink three._

_Repeat._

_There was a New York branch? _

_Never mind that, there were two?_

_Time really had gone by, hadn't it? _

"Come in, Artie!" Alfred beamed, holding out the door for his new somewhat-companion.

Arthur nodded warily, stepping into the restaurant.

* * *

"The ones from Northern France, if you will," Alfred said in a serious tone, pointing to the two names on the wine menu. The flamboyant waiter nodded, as if all of his customers ordered much too much food for two people. The lawyer continued to list a bunch of items off the menu after Arthur had insisted Alfred choose. Arthur shut his menu, his brain already calculating how much this was going to cost. The numbers started to hurt his head more than the shots.

"That's all it, Sir?"

"Yes, thank you," the American nodded, handing back the menus. Arthur's face was stoic, as if trying to concentrate not to crack.

The lights.

The plants.

Even the fricking table setting!

They all so completely extravagant, and used in such a manner that defined the lifestyles of the wealthy and careless, and Arthur couldn't do anything but breathe it in.

And it stung and shook his body violently.

Alfred could tell there was something wrong with Arthur, but he didn't want to press anything. He thought it might've been the after effects of a massive hangover, and just fiddled with the cutlery, waiting for the food. A good dinner was always something that could create conversation.

A server wheeled in a lavish cart full of food for the Jones table, setting each down with grace. Alfred's mouth watered as the final plate was revealed, exhibiting an ornate risotto.

"Don't be modest, Artie! Dig in!"

As Alfred piled on meat and spaghetti on his plate, Arthur prodded a familiar chicken dish and dished some out on his plate.

He chewed, and swallowed, and smiled and washed it down with water. Alfred offered some wine to him, and he accepted graciously.

"It's good, right?"

"It's fantastic, Alfred," Arthur nodded quietly. "Thank you for inviting me to dinner."

Alfred nearly shat rainbows. Arthur was being nice to him!

"Yeah, hey, man, no problem! You ever come to Manhattan, and we can eat there all day!"

Arthur smiled weakly.

With the new level of happiness, Alfred continued to eat endlessly, occasionally bringing up a question or two for Arthur. The Englishman had stopped eating for quite some time, but Alfred hadn't realized it. It was only when Alfred stabbed the last mushroom that he noticed Arthur start to fidget.

"Hey…uh, Artie, you okay, man?"

No, he wasn't.

"Arthur? Arthur! What's wrong…?!"

Arthur pursed his lips and removed the napkin from his lap.

"I'm so sorry, Alfred."

And without warning, the Englishman pulled out a $50 bill from his jacket, slammed it on the table, and ran. Just his luck, a bus (its direction irrevelant to Arthur at the moment) was just dropping off passengers. He immediately hopped on and swiped his MetroCard.

* * *

Alfred sat there for another 10 minutes, replaying what had just happened.

He was a graduate of Yale, an honours student, and a lawyer who made quite a few figures for his age.

Yet, he was completely befuzzled by Arthur's sudden need to get out…

And Alfred had just let him.

* * *

After three transfers, Arthur found himself somewhat close to home. He had about a 24 minute walk to his home, and he was hoping to get home quick. The dark wasn't exactly his best friend.

The tap of his shoes were relatively light, so when a dark shadow loomed over him, and a pair of scuffing sneakers at his heels, the Briton tensed.

A cackly laugh burned into Arthur's ears.

"What do we have here? A big eye-browed freak?!"

Arthur gritted his teeth, his fist clenching.

"I don't want any violence. If it's money you want, I apologize, I'm a teacher's salary. I request you leave me alone."

"No can do, Eyebrows. Some of us need to eat."

And the attacked swung his fist, but not before Arthur grabbed his elbow and arm and snapped. The attacker hissed in pain, collapsing on his knees, giving Arthur just enough time to run for it.

It was two escapes in one night for the Brit.

Seemed like the morning jog had helped.

* * *

Afterword:

_Oh, Artie~_


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N ; a rather boring chapter until the end ;0 **

* * *

"That one is a favourite of my agent," Francis commented, pointing his spatula at the rose-coloured mousse cake that Matthew was watching over warily.

Matthew nodded, gently pressing the points of his fork into the soft dessert.

The morning had been spent with the internationally-renowned chef whipping five different desserts for *Berkley Smith to taste for the event tomorrow night. Francis had been awake since dawn, leafing through all the ones he deemed appropriate for the event. The sous-chefs that had been supplied by Berkley were all a bit incompetent in Francis's own opinion, but they did their job, and while it was less than satisfactory, five very different plates had been served.

Francis allowed Berkley to call him by 6 in the evening to confirm his final choice, and sent Francis off with a handshake of pure gratitude. The chef had acted poised and polite as usual, but he'd already established a rather cold feeling toward his client. He had packed up his roll of personalized kitchen tools and bundled up the rich leftovers in a box, and decided that Matthew was the perfect one to eat them. He had taken the same train to the Gilbert's place and surprised him with the cake box. The Frenchman now leaned on the corner of Gilbert's counter, anticipating the latter's opinion on the desserts.

"Whoa, that's rich," Matthew smiled, drawing out the taste as long as he could on his tongue. The French blond nodded, gesturing to the other four.

"Monsieur Smith is not very decisive, is he?"

Matthew chuckled, dipping his fork into the flakier dessert. "Not really, no. But he's a nice man, I guess."

Francis shrugged, flipping out his phone. "It's 4:56 already. I must have the choice by 6, mon Dieu. I need to get up early to go to the farmer's market. Does the man not realize that?" He groaned at the face of his phone, and slid the truffles at Matthew's way. "Are you allergic to hazelnut?"

"Mm-mm," Matthew assured, picking up the perfectly rounded sphere and popping it in his mouth. As he chewed and allowed the flavour to sink in, his attention was toward his Mac laptop. He was supposed to be manning the bar for two hours as Gilbert went to have a talk with their creditors (again), and by his luck there hadn't been any customers. His own boss had been flooding his email inbox however, and Francis appearing at Gilbert's nearly scared him. Luckily, all the Frenchman wanted was to offer some sweets.

"Well, that's good," Francis sighed, stepping into the bartending area. He picked up a random glass and filled it with a random drink. Matthew's eyes widened.

"Francis, don't. That's Gil's."

Francis rolled his eyes but nodded, pulling out Gilbert's cashbox (which was pretty much empty now), and slipped in a $20 bill.

"Oh, okay," Matthew shrugged. He supposed that was okay. As he opened up his newest email, the violet-eyed man closed the cake box and pushed his fork and plate aside. Francis's eyebrows rose in confusion.

"You just sampled. Are you not content? I don't understand-"

"Relax, Francis. I thought they were amazing, and definitely don't do your status justice. Beyond amazing." The magnate assured, eyes focused on the screen. "Al called me up at like 12 last night, and he didn't sound too…happy. I was hoping to cheer him up or something…"

"That overly American lawyer?"

"That one, yes. As far as I'm concerned, he's my only brother."

"What happened? If I may be told," Francis asked, sipping the apparently-beer. His tongue pulled back at the bland taste.

"I'm not sure…but you remember that Brit that Gilbert mentioned a while back? Al was sort of…I don't know, pining for him, and I don't think Al deserves someone like Arthur, honestly, but if he's hurt, I have to help. I guess I should have talked to Arthur." Matthew mumbled, scrolling through the rest of his emails. "My brother….he doesn't really_ love, _if you know what I mean. I don't want him to continue pursuing Arthur because I don't think it'll last. Al's young and stupid, and I don't want him to screw over another relationship. And now he's fuc-ing hurt because he's so into the game of being in a relationship."

"Is that what you think, mon petit?" Francis asked, pouring the beer into the sink and allowing it to wash away. "He might actually like this Arthur."

"From what I know, Arthur's just a teacher and a caring-in-his-own-way and keeps-to-himself man. He shouldn't be punished by my brother whose life is about money and power."

"Do you _really _know your brother well, mon cher? You seem to be putting him down quite a bit-"

Matthew intercepted. "He's a great person. But he needs someone on the same balance as him, you know? Someone that can live his life, and love him too. Dude's got his head in the clouds too much, and now he's probably drinking his sorrows away with hotel alcohol."

* * *

"Al, it's me, open up."

Matthew sighed and knocked louder.

"It's Mattie, open up!"

He could hear rough shuffling from the other side of the door, and it calmed his nerves. The realtor had a bottle of Jack Daniels he'd gotten from his boyfriend in his left hand, and the box of dessert leftovers tucked under his arm. After Gilbert had returned with a stressed out face a few hours after Francis had dropped by, Matthew decided it was time to go check on his brother. The American lawyer had been at the Carlton for his weekend stay in the borough, and hadn't contacted his brother since 12 am in the morning.

Alfred pulled the door open, his face and overall appearance looking unscathed, as if it had been a regular day. His blond hair looked somewhat taken care of, and he had on a fitting green hoodie over dark jeans. If Matthew didn't know any better, he'd thought Alfred was just about to go out. But they were brothers, and naturally, he knew better.

"Brought you some fancy-schmancy cake, Al," Matthew said, setting the Jack Daniels on the suite's sofa. He passed the box to his brother and allowed himself into the suite kitchen and fetched two forks. "Compliments of Francis!"

"Sweet," Alfred nodded, unboxing the desserts. "Yeah, after this, I think I'm going to start on my work, haha. Boss-dude is totally pissed because he doesn't have any big cases, and he sure as hell wants one to give me. Loser!"

The energy seemed forced, Matthew thought. But he nodded regardless.

"Do you want to talk about it…?" he whispered, turning around to grab the Jack.

Alfred smiled. "Maybe when Ricky drives us back, yeah?"

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Crisp leaves crunched under his feet as the Brit walked aimlessly through the park with Britannia on her thin leash. He had is ears plugged with headphones, just keeping the darkening day in mind as he urged the cat to start heading toward home. The owner and his pet had been around the area, mainly walking, with Arthur stopping for something to eat, or drink. He had tried to hole himself in his apartment, but at the same time he felt completely guilty about Alfred. In the end, he decided if fate had its way, he could 'bump' into the American and they would confront each other. Even if the other man was just a mere acquaintance to Arthur, he still felt compelled to apologize about running out on their FRIENDS-dinner.

He never saw Alfred, and while it felt weird, it only made sense. What use did the high-profile man have in the area? As far as Arthur was concerned, there were no big cases or lawsuits spurring up. Alfred F Jones was probably on his back to Manhattan, more than likely to already be there. It wasn't like they lived days away.

Britannia mewed in frustration when she stopped walking abruptly. Her usually delicate paws were now dirty and sore and she didn't want to move any more. How dare Arthur make her walk so much! He never used to. Britannia never really understood those of his owner's kind. They all had such weird emotions.

"Oh, Britannia," Arthur sighed, scooping up the feline. "I'm a terrible person. I needed a companion so much, I made you suffer, didn't I?"

The cat just purred meekly, hoping it the right answer.

Arthur looked up. It was just past twilight, and by the time the two walked back to Arthur's place, it would be dark. He checked his watch quickly before pulling the sleeves back down.

"Just once, Britannia," the Briton chided, giving up the fight.

Seconds later, Arthur had hailed down a cab to take them to a café for dinner. The two would have a small dinner before arriving home again. Arthur didn't really want to go home. It continued to make him feel the utmost guilt.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"Thank you for spending time with the kids, Peter," Vash said in a monotonous voice. The Swiss man pointed at Peter's visitor badge. The student just nodded, and pulled it off.

"Yes, they loved you," Lilli smiled warmly. The way her pink lips curved made Peter's heart flutter just a bit.

"W-W-Well, they were great kids," Peter stuttered, eyes glued to Lilli.

"It's good to see Mr. Kirkland spread such good values," the front deskman said, jerking is head at his younger sister to agree. Lilli did just that, adding something else.

"I'm sure it's also nice that the kids are spending time with younger volunteers. Don't tell Artie- the man can be a gem, but he is rather old-fashioned," Lilli giggled.

"I hear you," Peter whistled. As the 19-year old hitched up his backpack, he waved goodbye to the blonde siblings. "I'll see you soon, 'kay?"

"Artie's here tomorrow, if you want to stop by," Lilli said hastily.

"If the old man doesn't pile much homework on us!" Peter chuckled. He left the small building in high hopes, his mind far away from how dark the sky was looking, and the philosophy essay he still had to write. Every time he thought back to his 'ruined' holiday, he realized there was definitely going to be another way to spend his Christmas. The kids were all jubilant and exciting, Lilli and Vash themselves were pleasant company. Oh, just thinking about it would reassure his parents even more! Peter turned into the corner and realized he was near Mr. Kirkland's neighbourhood. He tugged on his hat even lower from the cold air, checking his phone every once in a while and cocking his head to make sure the appropriate bus had not left.

The boy had been so ignorant that he'd blindly turned into a darker alley. Hands grabbed him from his shoulders, pulling him back, his head swinging from the quick motion.

"Yeah, that's definitely him. Seems a bit shorter, and the light's showing him younger, but oh cheeses, those fuc-ing eyebrows!"

Eyebrows? What was wrong with-

A large metal cylinder slammed into his gut, sending him on the his knees.

Peter gasped, "WHAT THE HELL?"

His backpack was ripped from his body and then pushed down on the cold ground. Large eyes poured into his.

"I could have sworn your eyes were almost teal, but it you. I might not have had my contacts or glasses, but it's you."

And the fist swung to Peter's head.

Usually, a blow like that would have sent him unconscious. But what many people didn't know was Peter's father was a strong and tall man, who had naturally, shown and taught his adopted-son to be strong. Peter leaped up, albeit limping a bit, and grabbed the attacker's head. Without thinking, he slammed it forehead-first against the brick walls of a random building. It was dark, and he couldn't see the blood already gushing. Instead, Peter grabbed the metal bar and swung it at his head. This was just an act of defense, but he rational thinking had been clouded by the anger of being suddenly attacked. He hated bullying. He despised it! His childhood hadn't been the best in the orphan's home. How dare this STRANGER attack him?!

The attacker's accomplice fled the scene before Peter had acknowledged him.

And when the student realized the blood and unconscious man in front of him wasn't breathing, his heart nearly stopped. Peter dropped the bar in complete stress, gasping and breathing harshly. It wasn't until faint sirens were heard that he realized just how much his planned holiday had already ended.

* * *

*Berkley Smith is just some random name I came up with... there is no affiliation with anyone who is possibly named the same name xD And coincidence is purely coincidental.

Afterword;

_-can you guys sort of pick up clues as to what's going to happen next D: _ _you can review your answers if you want, but it might be spoiler to others ;) finally the summary's content is coming to light :D _


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: BECAUSE I AM PRETTY DENSE, I USED LAWYER AND ATTORNEY AS SYNONYMS, DIDJA NOTICE? Well, in my summary, Alfred has always been an ****_attorney, _****but still referred as a lawyer... so yeah.. :D**

**& as for the romance, please be patient (: I TRY I TELL YOU! -determined meme face-**

* * *

They took his backpack, and kept him silent the entire ride back to the station. Once they unlocked the handcuffs from his hands, one of the gentler policemen led him into the custody room. They found the student rather quiet and easily compliant under the circumstances, and allowed him to stay in his own cell. Peter kept quiet the entire time, nodding when he was given words of chastising or when he heard whispers between the other officers at the station. The large bump in his throat just couldn't disintegrate.

He lay against the cold bench the entire night, and he received no more than 3 hours of actual sleep. His mind wandered back and forth, replaying what had just happened. From the sudden jerk, and then the assault, nothing made sense. But then again, he knew there were gangs, and random punks who found it heartwarming to beat the living shite out of defenceless people. As he lay awake in the middle of the night in his drafty cell, Peter zoned everything out, trying to just calm himself down. He had the morning to endure, and he still needed to make his phone call.

X-X-X-X-X-X

The phone in his hand shook violently as the boy's broken sobs echoed into his ear. Arthur's mind was almost blank as he was about to leave for work. His student's words and everything he said was nearly ripping Arthur in half, especially when he knew of the boy's family life. He didn't even bother questioning Peter as to how he landed himself in that situation. All that Arthur needed right now was to call in sick, and find a way to console both his shaken mind and Peter's heart-wrenching tears. As soon as the policeman at the station retrieved the phone back and had a short but informative speech to the professor, Arthur coldly thanked the man and walked back into his apartment. He dialled the school's dean and said that his morning Literature classes would have to be cancelled, and his afternoon English classes would be compromised. The dean didn't sound completely pleased –it was just last minute, after all, but things like this happened. The dean, never one of Arthur's favourites, wished him a good day and hung up. The Briton dropped his briefcase, and ran into his bedroom.

He ran his fingers through his hair in distress, and paced back and forth, not sure if he should do what his mind was telling him.

Eventually, he gave in.

The Briton pushed aside jackets and sweaters that took up the majority of his small closet and his breathing hitched as the tiny white box sat untouched on the small shelf. He pulled on its lid and picked up the piece of paper and plastic card. He had heard the amount of money Peter was going to need to be bailed out. His body shivered at the idea of withdrawing $85 000, but then he remembered it could have been worse. He was a teacher, whose paycheque was meager compared to many others (especially in New York), but he knew how to save. And he saved for a rainy day.

Arthur looked outside his bedroom. The sun was out and shining. No rain.

But from the phone call, Peter's tears and cries were already hurricanes.

* * *

"I'm here for Peter O-I can't pronounce his bloody surname, but you know who I mean!" Arthur snapped, glaring at the officer behind the desk.

"I'll get someone to escort him out. It's a steep bailout price, Sir. The boy must mean quite a bit to you."

"He's practically a son. I barely know him, but he's a boy worth caring for," Arthur replied curtly. He opened up his wallet and pulled out the cheque he'd gotten from the bank. The price was scribbled on the cheque, and it was signed by the professor. He slid the piece of paper at the officer, crossing his arms. The officer paid him no attention, and double checked the paper for any form of fraud. When he failed to find anything, the officer spoke into the mic to allow Peter out.

Arthur waited patiently for about 17 minutes before the teenager was out. His hair was disarrayed, and his clothes wrinkled and obviously slept in. Arthur winced at the small dots of dried bloody littered the shoulder of his clothes, but he didn't want to say anything. He just nodded encouragingly at boy, and led him out. Peter's head drooped at Arthur's silence, but he was out. He wasn't sure how his teacher managed to supply enough funds, or even get out of teaching for the day, but he was in no position to ask. He didn't need a chastising from Arthur right now. All he needed was to get back home.

Peter coughed into his fist when the two were outside, Arthur walking about 8 feet away. The latter turned around when Peter made a rough noise.

"Are you alright, boy?"

The 19-year old fidgeted. "However you paid it, t-thank you…I promise I'll pay you b-back…"

"Please allow that to be the least of your concerns. Right now, I'm taking you back home so you can have a good sleep, and then after work, we'll talk," Arthur said in a gentle voice. It sounded completely sincere and almost motherly. Peter tilted his head slightly.

"R-Really…?"

Arthur patted Peter's shoulder. "Just calm your nerves, please. You don't need frown lines at such an early age."

* * *

He boiled some water for the two to drink, and had the boy take a hot shower and change into something clean. Arthur piled on some blankets and cushions onto the sofa and insisted the boy rest. It took some time for Peter to finally relax, but eventually the boy had been calmed by the warmth of the tea, and the knowing that he wasn't sitting on cold stone in the barred cell. Once the boy was dozed off, Arthur scrawled on a note and left it by Peter's side. He was going to go attend to his afternoon classes, and rush back almost immediately.

As Arthur travelled the not-entirely-long distance to campus, he had his eyes glued to his phone.

He was going to need to supply Peter a defense lawyer.

The depressing part about Arthur's life was that he knew two well established lawyers. They were both almost unstoppable, and were ruthless under the roof of a courthouse. It was quite saddening that the one time he needed connections, he'd royally fuc-ed up any chance he had to use them. As he entered the campus, he had put together a small list of volunteer lawyers in his area that he would email tonight. He wasn't so sure that Peter would find much help with those lawyers, seeing as Peter's case was rather large, but it was something.

He still felt guilty about his sudden burst at Alfred's dinner, but it wasn't fair to just call him up after practically blowing him off.

X-X-X-X-X-X

"You're back," his boss noted in a tone that was a mix of surprise and approval.

Alfred shrugged. "I am _that _awesome of a person."

"'f course," the senior attorney laughed. As the man walked away to attend to other matters, Alfred pulled out a paper cup from the dispenser and filled it with coffee. He hadn't slept all too well, but he was here and looked normal.

The blue-eyed man resumed to his job as soon as he finished the cup of black coffee. He had a few prospective clients to meet with in the afternoon, and he did so with the best personality he could. His secretary had pretty much answered all his calls, to which Alfred was completely grateful, and before he knew it, Alfred was loosening up his tie and packing his bags and shutting off his computer. Coming back from a weekend- Alfred still despised Mondays, was welcomed by a light load. He chuckled to himself at the thought of his boss's threat about a big chore as soon as he got back.

"Yeah, right," Alfred pfft-ed.

X-X-X-X-X-X

"Whatever happened to that…businessman?" Lilli asked unsurely over the phone.

Arthur pushed his door with all his strength and had it open in seconds. His mobile phone was in his left hand as he walked into his apartment. It was almost sunset, and he had rung up Lilli to tell her that he would not be able to join them today. He decided it was best not to dwell on as to why he would be absent, but it wasn't necessary anyway. Lilli had never been one to pry, and even if she did, she never did with Arthur.

"I believe it was attorney-at-law," Arthur corrected, setting his briefcase down. His eyes scanned the visible parts of his home, and spotted Peter with his books laid out. It looked like he was doing something like psych or history, and when the boy realized Arthur's presence, just looked down shamefully. Arthur shook his head to assure him things were fine. He motioned with his hands that he would be in his room.

As soon as he shut the door behind him, Arthur set the phone down and put it on speaker.

"Oh, well, whatever happened to him?"

"I don't know, poppet," Arthur groaned slightly.

"You two seemed 'chummy'."

"Chummy? I barely know the bloke!"

"I think he likes you," Lilli blurted in a rushed response.

Arthur felt his cheeks redden as he pulled off his sweater and unclasped his watch. He was practically spluttering before retaining his composure. "Well, that's for him to tell me. Lilli, my dear, please forward my apologies to the children."

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry, Arthur. Ignore what I said."

"Good day, Lilli," Arthur parted, pushing his sleeves up.

Once he heard the young woman hang up, Arthur pulled up his computer to begin contacting criminal defense lawyers around the area.

_Why are you even doing this? You know who to get, for fu-k's sake!_

_Shut up. I hate that I'm talking to myself, but I refuse! REFUSE, I tell you!_

_Getting some random lawyer won't save Peter, or at least get him better consequences. STOP BEING A COWARD!_

_Ugh, why am I arguing with myself?_

* * *

The two ate dinner in near silence.

Peter was very cautious about everything. How much water he sipped, how much dinner he took, and how he wasn't sure whether to say anything. Arthur seemed content about the silence, aside from the clinking of forks and spoons.

The professor chose not to say anything in fear of Peter's reaction. He didn't want to make it sound like he was trying to push something out of the boy, but it was also because his mind had wandered off. He sat across from the boy, chewing on take out rice and fish, and replaying how he was going to speak to Peter's eventual lawyer. He had yet to be contacted by any prosecutor assistants or anything of such, but he knew Peter needed someone on his side as soon as possible.

On a lighter note, Alfred hadn't called since Saturday, or even tried to reach out to Arthur. It was fine, Arthur thought. He was always a stranger. Arthur hated to admit it, but he didn't know if he could have actually liked the other man. He tried to tolerate him, and that worked, but only until that _point._

So this was why he scarcely made friends…

He pushed the paper container at Peter, assuring the boy to relax.

"Are you okay…? You look like you're thinking about something…" Peter mumbled, washing his dinner with a glass of water. He shook his head at Arthur's offering.

"It's nothing," Arthur sighed.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"You're in luck, Jones."

"I- what?"

"My buddy with the US Attorneys has been running short on assistants for a new case he's going to be prosecutor of. You're joining their team!"

* * *

Afterword;

I have absolutely no clue how the law system works. Peace.

(aka, bear with me LOL; I get it's a big part of Al's character, but I think I've already made many mistakes concerning the legal system/bricked)


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N; another boring chapter... ; _ ;**

**&& "-Moments Before-" = the moments before the last thing said to Alfred last chapter.**

**_update; sorry about that. o-o there is some onesided-won't-escalate-past-friendship fruk. kthxbai._  
**

* * *

_To: Gilbert  
From: Francis_

_I'm expecting a bottle of the tres bien stuff, mon ami! Successful dinner the other night, my delicate self needs to drink!_

_To: Frenchie  
From: TheAwesomeMe_

_I gotta drag an angry MIA-lately Brit to join. You down?_

_To: Gilbert  
From: Frances_

_I'll be there in a bit, mon cher!_

_To:Frenchie  
From: TheAwesomeMe_

_Coolz! Wuzzat mean, btw?_

* * *

_Alfred waved the waiter over to pay his bill. _

_Arthur had just fled the scene without an explanation and by now his heart and hunger had plummeted. The French waiter nodded and drew out the bill. Without looking twice, Alfred just smacked his black AmEx onto the plastic tray. _

_He pulled on his grey jacket on again, and pushed both chairs in. _

_There was definitely something up about the other man. Besides his lovably scowling attitude, there was something Arthur was hiding. _

X-X-X-X-X-x-X-X

-Moments Before-

Alfred chewed mindlessly on the tip of his pen as he keyed some things into the Google search engine.

_A-R-T-H-U-R K-I-R-K-L-A-N-D_

Oh, how he felt like an indulgent stalker.

The sad but honest truth was that the Arthur he knew and found rather intriguing was almost non-existent in the Internet world. There was no Twitter, or Facebook, not even the ancient MySpace. Alfred scrolled down the list, and almost clicked onto the page 2-which almost no one ever looked at. He received some awkward looks behind the glass wall of his office, a young blond lawyer eating his pen and furrowing his brows at Google.

Apparently, not only did Arthur not exist online (at least on the first page), but he was a well-known loner, an uptight Brit, and the man who Alfred couldn't seem to get down.

_He likes the same books I do*. He likes animals (albeit, honestly, Americat is so much more civilized). And he works with children. _

_Man, he's like _another _English hero-dude. Almost. _

Alfred closed the window and leaned against his chair. Before he could doze off into another nap-lately, without the influx of actual work, he'd been doing that a lot, his phone rang.

"Mr. Jones? Your superior wishes to see you."

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

The teenager brushed his hair carefully as he slid on his blazer. He was to meet with his future defense lawyer, and Arthur was standing beside him, clasping on his watch and filling his briefcase with paperwork. Arthur would drop the boy off at the volunteer-based firm before leaving for work. Peter would walk home by himself after, and go about his business. The Briton had accepted an invitation from Gilbert. He had tried declining- his wallet didn't need to be drowned again from overdose of alcohol, but it was supposed to be free, and Arthur decided he needed a day to himself.

"You have my number if the lawyer needs anything, correct?"

"Yes, Mr. Kirkland…"

"Peter, just call me Arthur…"

Peter winced, but nodded. He tried to lighten the mood.

"Right. Because you're not really my teacher while I'm suspended, haha…"

Arthur sighed, but opened the door. "Come along."

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

He needed to get to work. It was just a flipping coincidence that the murder case he was doing paperwork for took place around Arthur's neighbourhood. Odds were, the teenage punk that was involved with the case probably never even met the scowling Brit. Alfred locked his office door and chanted to himself like a mantra, that he needed to get to work.

The prosecutor of the case had forwarded all the police documents, and hospital reports, and it was Alfred's job to conduct interviews within the coming days. The lucky SOB had been bailed out by a close acquaintance for more than eighty grand. Alfred scoffed at the reports. He could guess easily that the punk was looking at quite a few years behind bars. Ever since he had enrolled into school, he had a rough time dealing with those who chose violence to solve things. He never had the most 'true'friends in school (but still popular), but he grew to spread his charisma later on in life. Still, he resented those who thought they could dominate another. It was one of those cliché things that boiled his blood. It was for this that he had to stand up to those who got the short end of the stick.

He was skimmed through most of the papers, but was not paying attention to the late victim.

They were still out scouting for any prime witnesses that needed to be interviewed for solid evidence against the cold-blooded murderer. His heard wrenched at the paragraphs of brain damage and bone breakage, especially near the rib area. Alfred himself wasn't sure if the accused had been injured, but there had been no inquiries at the moment. Alfred sighed deeply and plunged the file into his briefcase. He was supposed to be contacted within a few days of the lawyer that the accused was going to depend on.

_Poor Artie. Living in the city where there's a crazy murderer out on bail._

* * *

"Have a seat, Mr…O-"

Peter chuckled nervously. The teenager waved his hand and shook his head with understanding. "Don't bother trying to pronounce it."

"Well, thank you for that. I'm Elizabeta Herdvary, by the way."

The lawyer (attorney) that would be representing Peter on his behalf in court was a brown haired woman, with green eyes of determination and while she seemed to hold herself high, was the type of woman you could sense broke down in front of romance or chick-flicks. Peter took a seat cautiously as the woman began accumulating papers that were being printed off her fax machine. She smiled warmly at the teenager, but silence seemed to drag on.

"W-W-What are you looking at?"

"Some police reports…" the woman mumbled, not dropping her positive aura.

"I-I-If you don't mind me asking…"

"It's not completely bad on your part. You were found down a street late at night alone with a dead body. They've collected some surroundings, and while it doesn't look good, I'm in no position to accuse you of actually killing, am I right?"

The boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"He's really dead, isn't he?"

The lawyer just nodded slowly.

"Do you know who he was…?"

"it's actually interesting. They've identified him from coming from a very nice family, but he emancipated not many months ago."

"Is this a murder case…?" Peter whispered, crossing his fingers.

Another nod.

"What am I going to do…?"

A response was cut off by the whirring of the printer. Miss Herdvary lifted a finger to hold Peter's thought. Her eyes roamed over the font, pursing her lips in anguish. With great skill, she suppressed her emotion and just sat back down in front of Peter.

"I see your first talk with the prosecutor's people will have to be appointed…"

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"_Hello. You have reached the residence of Arthur Kirkland. I am currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the tone and I will get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you."_

Arthur grumbled, but left a message at his own recording.

"Peter! If you're home, please feel free to order dinner. Whilst I do have a class tomorrow, I am not sure when I will be back. Good evening, boy."

* * *

Gilbert hummed to himself as he dimmed the lights of his bar down. The initial small rush of wandering tourists had by now left in their half-drunken states, and that left only Francis and Gilbert's own bottle of German beer.

Arthur was supposed to be due in a bit, but the man had a profession he was proud of, so Gilbert never gave it a second thought if the man suddenly forgot. Truthfully, Arthur's visits and drinks were often kept at a minimal, and he knew it was because Arthur had to get up early and preferred to do so without a hangover. But sometimes, when Gilbert felt nice, he popped open the bottle of Arthur's favourite Irish beer for the price of an American classic. Today, with Francis drinking his vodka with delicate sips, he would probably be doing his British friend a favour. A) Arthur _had _been coming by more often lately, and B) Ever since Birdie had gone back to the big city with his twin, he knew that Arthur probably wasn't going to be not-lonely for a while.

He himself actually found the gossiped dinner fail hilarious, but only because he wished he had seen Alfred's face.

He could put two and two together that Arthur Kirkland probably did enjoy the random acquaintance, but he wasn't so far off as to think Arthur could like Alfred. However, he sure as heck knew vice versa.

Francis bobbed his head slowly to Gilbert's humming and looked at the man.

"What's up, Frenchie?"

The chef just raised his hands in mock-surrender.

"Nothing wrong, mon ami."

Gilbert nodded.

* * *

The beer seemed to be depleting every minute as Arthur would slam another empty glass in front of the 'Prussian'. Gilbert's eyes widened as the fourth bottle had been emptied, a small pang in his heart at the rather pricey import. Arthur was practically out of it, and incoherent, but still appeared conscious.

Francis nodded at Gilbert in surprise. This Arthur character definitely looked like some of the men Francis remembered vaguely well from his Europe-days, before his name was not internationally known. He was rather attractive in his own way, and had a façade that was fearless. It impressed him, and at the same time, he was intrigued. All he knew was that Arthur was British, and that just pulled up many faces, Arthur's green eyes almost resembling those of-

He shook his head. He didn't need to go back there again.

"Arthur…you are quite the drinker, non?"

Arthur mumbled something incoherent, but nodded. His smaller frame and smooth face drooped, wrapping his arms atop the counter.

Gilbert just widened his eyes In fear as Francis tipped the man's chin up and pressed a chaste kiss on the lips.

"W-What are you thinking?" Gilbert asked with caution. Arthur hiccupped before his eyes started to droop.

"Nothing, Gilbert. I just think I'm going to stay here for a bit longer."

* * *

_Afterword:_

_* = can anyone remember why Al might say this?_

_&& _I realize lately the chapters have been sort of 'meh'/ confusing. I might do some re-editing, but right now I just want this story out asap before I lose interest.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Sorry about the slightly (IMO, of course) overdue post. Uh, yeah, been sort of at a deadlock as to how to continue on after I practically dug myself in a writer's hole LOL. Nevertheless. you'll notice, and I will probably repeat the fail, the quick pace of things. Sorry! But hey, an AlxArt reunion soon, THANK DIEU! **

**Peaces :) **

* * *

The Frenchman and his new Prussian friend never spoke of Francis's stolen kiss from Arthur. After Gilbert had sent Arthur out, he had scolded Francis until all the chef could do was shake a bit in the corner. Eventually, Gilbert had keeled over laughing his head off at the other's quick scare. He locked down his pub and invited the chef upstairs to his small flat.

It was about 11:25, and Ludwig was already fast asleep after his long day. Francis walked in warily, taking in the crisp but modern apartment that the Beillschmidts apparently lived in. He knew of Gilbert's financial woes, but never asked the latter about it. He knew that the blonde brother supplied himself with a bit better of a job, and he was fascinated the two somehow managed to live in a neat place. Gilbert knew it was because no matter how much the two brother brought in income-wise, Ludwig always found his way around to make sure they lived in a spotless and welcoming home. It was intimidating when such successful individuals visited, but all Gilbert needed to do was crack open a nice bottle of something fancy, and the guest would feel honoured.

Francis had decided to stay over for the night, and go rent-hunting tomorrow. He had made it clear he was opting to make this a vacation, and stall his needy agent. From what Shelly had told him, he had about three weeks before he would have to fly to Japan for a quick seminar on Japanese cuisine, and then head over to provide a wealthy entrepreneur in Nagasaki a dinner. He definitely found Gilbert exciting, and while his Italian cousin had been so generous, he was too used to the upscale living arrangements. Queens still held that air of luxury, but in the smaller neighbourhoods like the one Gilbert lived in, it was drawn back.

"I don't get up until 11, okay, Frenchie?" Gilbert chuckled, handing a clean comforter and cushion for his new friend.

"Oui. I will probably go out, so don't be scared if I'm missing." Francis winked.

"Ha. Don't even think about sneaking off to Artie's. The man is like a teacher, and prefers being lonely."

"He is so beautiful, non? Has he ever been with someone?"

Gilbert scoffed. "Go to sleep. It's so early, but my head is tired."

Francis pouted, but nodded.

"And, it didn't work out…if you were dead curious."

"Ah-"

"Yeah, don't try anything, okay bud?"

* * *

_The sound that buzzed around Roma's was its usual calamity. Highly-chosen waitresses and waiters stepped in and out from the kitchen, their delicate hands holding the steaming plates. Bartenders chuckled quietly with their wasted customers, and the sound of polished glasses being dried and clinked accompanied the laughter. The stark white table clothes that adorned every square dining table glowed under the dimmed lighting. As always, the Italian-based, 4-star restaurant was having a successful night. _

_Francis served under about 5 world-renowned cooks that were near their retirement, just patiently waiting for their arses to be fired and to be replaced by the next biggest thing. The French culinary graduate hummed his way around the baker's table, stealing glances at the other sous-chefs that he had the (not) pleasure of calling co-workers. Everyone that worked below the Elite 5 had the same aspirations- to replace the he kneaded the dough with his long fingers, pressing it against the cold counter, others floated around the plating station and the boiling soups. _

_His only true friend in the kitchen, strangely enough, was one of his superiors, Gaul. The man had a permanent frown on his face, but he, alike Francis, was a French-bred man. Occasionally, Gaul would growl at Francis's use of wine, but Francis would often push that comment aside. His food was still to-die for! The only thing that truly bothered Francis about Gaul was when he-_

_"BONNEFOY. GET OUT TO PLATE THE NAPOLEONS!"_

_…when he needed Francis at such stupid moments. He wasn't a freaking immortal for Dieu's sake!_

_"Le pain," Francis muttered._

_"We aren't serving bunnies. Go." Gaul sighed. He waved a cook below Francis to finish the kneading. All Francis could do was flinch in horror at the grubby boy's hands._

_Gaul apologized in a low voice as Francis opened up the pastry display, but the younger man shrugged. "It can't be too bad."_

_"Whatever. Check the dessert orders." _

_The chef fled back to the shadows of Roma's and let Francis do his work. _

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

Peter had still been asleep when he'd left for work. Arthur popped a few Tylenol's into his mouth and scrawled a note for the boy to read, hoping Peter would get awake before he got home.

When said professor did arrive home, Peter had was gone, a note under Arthur's note to say the lawyer had called for him. Arthur checked his watch and pursed his lips. He had about 4 hours to nap.

And that's just what the man did.

* * *

_"YOU'RE JUST LIKE HIM!"_

_The blonde man in the mirror froze. _

_"STOP IT! GET OUT. I WANTED YOU GONE YEARS AGO!" Arthur screamed, trying to kick the mirror down. The also-blond man looking back at him shook his head. He offered a hand for Arthur to take, to make peace. It had been four years- wasn't he allowed back?_

_"Art-"_

_"NO! Don't say my name! GET OUT!"_

_"Are you going to keep both me and Alfred away? You love us, admit it!"_

_"I DO NOT BLOODY LOVE ALFRED."_

_"You will. Or you can get me back. Either, or. You can't live without any of us."_

_NO! Arthur screamed in his head. He covered his ears. He had gone over this so many times. HE. BARELY. KNEW. ALFRED. _

_"The dinner triggered those days. You remembered, didn't you? You tried so fuc-ing hard not to, too." The other man chuckled, gripping his blazer and smiling cockily. Arthur was steaming, and he lunged to push the mirror down this time. _

_"You need a friend. A stable one. One that makes you rich-"_

_"No." Arthur growled. "Just. No." _

_"Oh, but you love suits, don't you?" The man wiggled his eyebrows, laughing._

_"Get out. I've done without you for 4 years. I can do another 4."_

Arthur's body slammed up as his nightmare faded. He was panting and sweating, and overall felt pain.

* * *

His small hands wrapped around a cup of tea he had prepared himself. The heating was turned on- as high as Arthur's wallet allowed, at least, but he was still shivering. The green-eyed man had nevertheless bundled himself in a baggy sweatshirt. Arthur had his laptop resting on his knees, and it added to his overall warming. Once he brought the cup to his lips, he shivered in delight as the warm liquid ran down his tongue.

Arthur set the mug down and refocused his attention to the computer. After giving it a good thought, he typed in the initials K.L.A. He hadn't checked up on him via the Internet in such a long time. Maybe it was overdue…

Alfred and _him._

Arthur had been all up for that free-lifestyle back in London with K.L.A. He loved the limousine, and the late-night parties, and the luxury of being known to the city.

Alfred was such a similar embodiment of the things Arthur missed in London.

The suits, the nice house, the big city, the drinks, the rides, the money-

From the serious and deadly arguments, to the amusement of being powerful and wealthy

It was everything Arthur felt he despised K.L.A. for.

X-X-X-X-X-X

He crept quietly down the hallway and noticed his older brother had failed, yet again, to lock his bedroom door.

Matthew chuckled lightly and pushed the door wider, and almost clapped when he took him Alfred's tall body thrown haphazardly on top of his bed. Alfred's glasses were strewn across his broad face crookedly, and his cheek and pressed against a small stack of papers. For drool's sake, Matthew hoped those papers were not as important. Matthew decided against walking in and helping to straighten up his brother's bedroom. The real-estate magnate shrugged and closed the door with a 'click'.

He had arrived home rather late for the day, and was nothing if not exhausted. The violet-eyed man gave the calendar that was connected to the Sub-Zero fridge by a magnet had messy writing written on it, in the most ludicrous choice of marker colours. Matthew rolled his eyes but scanned over briefly. He rarely had anything on the calendar because Alfred's writing was so freakishly messy and LARGE, but it was useful for the smaller things the usually-careful man forgot. He smiled at things like 'Ricky's Day off for b-day', and 'McDonald's coupons start today'. Matthew pulled out an ice cold Molson Canadian from the fridge and popped it open. He felt slightly intrusive, but if Alfred had written it down for anyone to see, it was probably fine right?

_Oh, he's a got a new case. That's good._ Matthew mused, nodding at the several dates marked with a star. His brother was getting back to work and keeping all those precious things on track again.

He was going to move on.

_Amazing. Alfred's such a good person~_

He was about to just pour out the remainder of his beer, and call it a lonely night before the cellophane of the pile of letters caught his eye. Telling by the neat tower, Alfred probably hadn't gone through them. He would have to thank the doorman later for always bringing them their mail.

Matthew picked up the pile and walked into his room. He removed the sturdy rubber band and threw it onto the floor without another care in the world. There were numerous bills, but that was expected. He paused for a few seconds to consider opening some of the dinner invitations, and tucked the subscription forms for new hockey magazines under his pillow. He flipped through the pile before stopping at one addressed to Alfred F. Jones, from a very familiar place.

_She was sending him letters again?!_

* * *

Afterword;

whoaaaa, yeah ._. like wutderhale just happened?! Heehee.

I know, it may seem like I'm pushing this kind of far, so I am sorry. Bear with me. I felt bad about not posting in a while I ended up giving this chapter a bit of a BANG BANG BANG, LETS GET A MOVE ON FOLKS!

Nevertheless, we all wonder..._who are these un-named characters? :0 _


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N; **

**Aside from the fact that I haven't updated in basically a week or so (ACK! This isn't like me!), I feel a great amount of sorrow for the disaster that ravaged the east coast the past week. I send the best wishes to those who had to witness the hurricane, suffered, or have family/friends there. **

**Without further ado, a chapter!**

* * *

The whirring of the fax machine seemed to grow louder as paper printed and piled on top of each other. Arthur grimaced at the sound of alive technology in the morning. He himself was still recovering from the fact that it _was morning._ His fingers were wrapped firmly around the thin ear of his mug, and he drank his steeped tea slowly as the printing slowed down before coming to a halt. Wafts of black coffee drifted into his nostrils, and while he was notorious for spiting the bitter, dark drink, it was known that a whiff of a fresh pot warmed his senses and kept his eyelids from dropping. Arthur shut the fax machine off and collected the papers together. He grabbed a clip from the plastic bin on his desk and stuck them together.

Peter was in the kitchen putting together toast and probably concocting a 'delicious' mixture of condiments. Arthur flinched at the sound of a metal against metal and tossed the thick pile of papers into his 'To Mark' tray. He set his mug down as well and ran into his small kitchenette. He was prepared for the worst; Peter had warned him that the teenager was barely a cook.

Instead, all he saw was a Peter sucking on his thumb, and from the look of a metal spoon on the ground and the small pot smoking, Arthur came to the conclusion that the boy had burned himself.

Arthur muttered a soft 'allow me', and urged the boy out of the kitchen vicinity. Peter gave his teacher an apologetic look and picked up the spoon. He pointed to the jars that were out and the open plastic bag of oats. Peter had been attempting oatmeal sweetened with jam. The teenager's sporadic movements and quick sentences showed that he had fully intended nothing bad to happen. He had just wanted to try something other than toast. The Brit nodded, mentally putting together the taste that would culminate from oatmeal and sweet jam. It sounded promising in his head, and he shrugged at the boy. Arthur walked out of the kitchenette for a second and led Peter out. They stood in front of his bookshelf and Arthur plucked an old copy of _A Tale of Two Cities _for the boy to read.

"You've been absent from class. Why don't you give it a read?"

Peter accepted the book with a nod and sat himself on a chair. Arthur plucked a few books when Peter had his back turned and tossed them in the bottom drawer of his desk. Before heading back to finish breakfast, he downed the rest of his tea and swiped the thick pile of faxed messages and tucked them under his arm.

* * *

Peter didn't know if it was best to leave Arthur in the kitchen. That dinner last night…

Guess they both were interesting 'cooks'.

* * *

In many cases, Arthur could compare Elizabeta, now Peter's defense lawyer, and contrast incredibly to Lilli.

Both young women held passion so deep it burned in (both) their jade-coloured irises. One was in love with equality and pushed for those who couldn't defend themselves to be defended. The other was patron of those who needed a lift in standing before they could stand for themselves. He couldn't help but feel admiration for those who had chosen their path so wonderfully in life.

Peter and Arthur (who had skipped another of teacher, and apologized profusely to the Zwingli's) had been called down to Elizabeta's small office as they were preparing questions and getting ready for Peter and Arthur to meet the assistant attorney who would be seeing Peter in a few days.

Elizabeta growled as she skimmed over the documents once again. It was hopeless. It really was.

"I can tell you feel it's horrid, isn't it?

"I just can't seem to put anything good together, you know?" she murmured, jotting down almost useless notes on her pad.

Arthur grabbed the paper as soon as she finished. He had a highlighter in his mouth and his eyes tried to pick up anything useful.

_I'm an _ENGLISH _teacher, remember?_

Peter could sense the thick air and pulled at the bottom of his t-shirt, his body shrinking.

"The thing is, our prime witness is dead. Confirmations don't lie. Peter, you say he had a cohort with him? Do you have an recollection of where we might find him?"

"I was at _ Street at night. I don't think they would have been that far."

"You say he was a bit shorter than the attacker?"

Peter nodded.

"Well, that won't be of much hope, but I think if we contact the family, they should have someone in mind. Hoping that the big guys haven't tracked them down yet."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. Things were definitely not looking good for his accused student.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

_Don't do it._

_I'm going to do it._

_PATHETIC. GET _HIM _INSTEAD._

Arthur rubbed his temples and turned the lights on a bit brighter. He was going to be dropping Peter off at tomorrow. The day at Elizabeta's had not been the most productive. Peter had asked to leave half way through to buy some coffee for the English professor and the frustrated lawyer. Elizabeta confided to Arthur secretly that she often got stressed before cases, even if they seemed relatively easy to win. It was just a habit. But Peter's case looked especially troubling.

It was almost 3 a.m. and any rational man who had to get up early the next day would have probably been off to bed in deep slumber. Arthur double checked his message for punctuation errors (but naturally there were none), and allowed his cursor to hover over the 'SEND' button.

A tiny click sent Arthur's heart praying.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

He tried his best to finger comb his hair as best as he could, one hair running through his soft, dark blonde locks, and the other skillfully buttoning up his shirt. Alfred gave the mirror a cheese-eating grin and gargled some mouthwash. The watch strapped onto his wrist ticked away hauntingly, mocking the esteemed lawyer (at the moment a DA assistant) about waking up late. Alfred didn't think he would have been up until 12 reading his comics. His brother had stashed some in his overnight bag because Matthew had been convinced Alfred had been so stressed out. For some reason, Matthew seemed overjoyed that Alfred was getting out of the house. Yes, he was 23, and still loved the smell of aged ink on glossy pages.

He had no time to check his computer for emails, instead just picking up the Lenovo laptop and stuffing it in its appropriate bag. Alfred picked up a piece of chocolate from the hotel room's table and popped it in his mouth. After sliding on his blazer and his thick manila folder and leather briefcase, he bound out the door, hoping he would be JUST on time.

To other men that Alfred had had the (more or less) pleasure of meeting the other day buzzed around conference room booked for the interview with the accused boy. Alfred gave each man a chin-jerk and took his respective seat on the side, opening up his computer and pulling up a blank page. He didn't want to be caught checking his email now where men who had been in the criminology field for years could see his subscriptions to Japanese anime updates. He really should get a separate account for those-

"Are you ready men? Your _guests _are at the door," a buxom secretary asked.

Alfred shrugged and looked at the other two.

"Send them in."

"All three?"

"Three?"

"The boy is here with his guardian. I believe the guardian will leave after meeting you three. But were you only expecting two-"

"It's fine," Alfred interjected.

The secretary nodded and opened the door open. A stern and proud looking woman with chestnut brown hair rolled into a perfect bun, with a red flower clip pinning her bangs back walked in dressed in a neat grey pantsuit. Alfred had his eyes peer just over his glasses, hand lying on the keyboard waiting. The woman gestured for a boy with thick eyebrows and blue eyes to walk in. Nervously, a teenager in a pressed shirt and jeans walked in. Alfred couldn't help but let his mind wander to Arthur as he took in the large eyebrows-

"Good morning, gentlemen," a familiar British voice said in a monotonous voice. Arthur walked in with his head looking at the men behind Alfred before his emerald-green eyes widened at the man behind the laptop.

* * *

_Dear Alfred,_

_I don't know how you probably feel about me sending you this letter, and you have complete reason to just ignore me. If you're still reading, thank you. It will not be long._

_What occurred on Saturday night was entirely my fault. I don't know if you blame yourself, or think you have wronged me any way as a friend, but I assure you that was not the case. Like you said, I'm not used to that environment, and I was simply overwhelmed. I've also been rather busy as of late, hence this apology arrived late. _

_I hope one day in the future we meet again. In fact, I might just need you excessively. _

_Do not think I wish to use you. I intend to reimburse you completely if you are able to do me a favour. _

_A student that I teach literature to has been falsely accused a heinous crime that could send him to prison for many years. I know my student and he is a not a cold and villainous murderer. His family is not well off either, and they both live in Northern Europe. I have tried to pair a local volunteer lawyer to assist in the case, but we are facing big trouble. His court date has been set to a few weeks from now. If there is any way you could help out, it would be welcomed completely. I cannot send any documents under Elizabeta's request, but please call me if you can help. _

_Don't think completely of me, or use whatever feelings you have toward my manners be used in your choice of assistance. Peter is a 19 year old boy on his own, and he is currently living under my roof to stay off the streets. Be the boy's hero._

_Yours truly,_

_Arthur Kirkland_

(A/N: Grammatical errors are probably here xD Just pretend it's perfect that way Arthur would have intended! And yeah, if you can't tell, Arthur had sent this email to Al at 3 am...and then the morning happened!)

* * *

__Afterword;

_WELL, that escalated quickly! _


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N; just an update before the week eats me alive (: More confusion + secrets that need to be resolved. Thanks for the lovely reviews + favourites.**

**Realizations etc.; Peter is very OOC x) Sorry 'bout that. And oh, Canada~**

**Dandy**

* * *

The cold feeling of his BlackBerry pressed harder against his ear as he paced back and forth across the living room. His palms were sweaty, and he shut his eyes in hesitation. He wasn't so sure if it was a good idea to call. He hadn't spoken to her in so long.

A few deafening dial tones sounded into his ears before a 'click' signalled the other had picked up her phone.

Matthew waited for her to say something. He was sure that she knew who was calling.

"…"

"You have caller ID. Or am I just his brother to you?"

Sighing to himself, Matthew stopped in his pacing tracks and waited for her to respond. While the temptation to just throw away her letter had been increasingly tempting, he knew it was wrong to open or toss out mail that hadn't been addressed to you. Alfred had left the penthouse the other day without noticing he'd gotten some mail.

_"Hon-"_ she finally whispered.

Anger flowed through him, and it wasn't often that it happened. He just did not need to hear her excuses again. They were growing stupid, and selfish, and downright repulsive!

"Stop it, really. You know Alfred loves you, but you keep doing this to him. What about me, huh? Do you hate me so much?"

_"Sweetie, listen-"_

"No! Gawd, how long has it been? You said I could come over for Christmas, for Thanksgiving! I just, I just-"

_"Hush, sweetie, calm down. Is Alfred not home?"_

He hadn't realized that his eyes had turned red, and that tears were trickling down. The curly blonde patted the escaped tears with the back of his hand. Matthew responded with a muffled 'no' and sniffed. He knew that she knew Matthew was sensitive, tears just made it worse.

_"Where is he, honey? If he's far, maybe I can come see you-"_

"He's still in New York. You won't make it."

_"Did he get my letter?"_

She always cut to the chase, huh?

"No. He was off before he could open any mail."

_"Just make sure he gets it. I can't talk to you, sweetie-"_

"You never want to see me. It's always him, just because he doesn't know!" Matthew hissed coldly into the receiver.

_"Matthew-"_

"Don't. Stop! You never really loved me. Admit it! It's him, it's always him!" The violet-eyed man screamed.

_"HONEY. CALM DOWN. YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU…both…"_

"You paused," Matthew sneered.

_"Just don't…let him know. Please? I'll let him know on my own accord,"_ she whispered.

Matthew didn't give a good bye. He just pressed the red button on his phone and tossed it onto the plush couch, storming off to his room.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"Will you be staying with us, Mister Oxenstierna?" The secretary asked in confusion as the green-eyed English professor took a seat. Peter raised his equally bizarre eyebrow at his teacher as he had been sure that Arthur would not be joining them for the entirety of the meeting. Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and kept a determined poker face.

"You're mistaken. I am not this boy's father. However, I think I will stay for the remainder of the meeting. I am his current guardian after all," Arthur said in a monotonous tone. He cheeks threatened to redden when his eyes clashed with the sky-blue hued pair of the man behind his Lenovo. Arthur turned his head, refusing to acknowledge any past relations to the man.

_Shit, the email._

The deafening voice in his head guffawed.

_Told you~_

Elizabeta shrugged and snapped open her briefcase. She drew out all the documents that she had and began taking out her trusted notebook and a pen. The men on the opposing team did so as well, as the youngest of the three kept his head down, hands and fingers glued to his keyboard. She could tell it would be a tense meeting, but she'd pull through it. She always did.

Peter glanced at Arthur before he reverted his attention to the firing and ice-trimmed questions that were aimed to him. He answered in full honesty, swallowing in large gulps over his nervousness. Arthur would pat his hand occasionally on Peter's shoulder to assure the boy that things would be okay. In the process, he kept his ears open for whenever anyone said anything.

Especially Alfred.

Even though he tried to keep his eyes away from the piercing and oddly intimidating green ones, nevertheless, this was his job, and he was damn good at it. Even Arthur was quite shocked over how clear and stern the younger man could make questions and drill for answers. His face was contorted so it was steel hard, and while it didn't suit the man- who Arthur found more child-like and exuberant, definitely scared Peter a bit. In fact, there were often times that Alfred's face sent chills down Peter's spine more than Alfred's superiors. Arthur was slightly, if not quite, impressed.

Elizabeta's hand ran across her paper with rapid-speed, trying to jot down important notes. Arthur could tell she wasn't liking how things were going, but he remained silent.

* * *

"I think we're good as of now."

"Yes, thank you for your time, Miss Héderváry," Alfred said In a now polite and courteous tone. There was no longer any trace of venom or intimidation in it, and it was almost astounding this was coming from the same man that nearly made poor Peter collapse from sweating bullets. Peter gave me a confused look but shook his head, buttoning up his coat again. He pushed his chair in, when Elizabeta rested a soft hand on his shoulder. She whispered a fear words to him, the two of them nodding afterwards. The teenager and his lawyer smiled at Arthur, who remained quite silent and stoic in his chair.

"Arthur? I think we're leaving now." Elizabeta whispered, hitching her bag over her shoulder.

The light-blonde man waved his hand dismissively. He squeezed Peter's hand and gave him a curt nod.

"Eliza, could you take Peter downstairs? You guys can have a cup of coffee or something. I'll be right down."

The two exchanged glances, but said they would comply. After Alfred's colleagues had left as well, leaving the younger American alone in the conference room with his British acquaintance, acquaintance in question stood up and tapped Alfred on the shoulder.

The young man had been rolling up his laptop charger and gave the other man a nervous smile.

"H-Hey, Artie…"

"Hello yourself."

The air was silent, except for some soft breathing when Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned.

"You're on the team trying to put Peter in jail," he groaned bluntly.

Alfred scratched his neck. "I think we figured that out-"

"_WHY?_"

Huh?

"W-Well, it's sort of in my job description-"

"Didn't you know he was a teenager? He's INNOCENT, I can attest to that?"

Alfred rolled his eyes. He was tired, and he really didn't need to be yelled at. "Artie, c'mon, it's just one case-"

"…That could destroy a boy like him."

"He would have gone to court regardless. Did you read those files?"

Arthur turned his head in disgust, crossing his arms. "You bet your insufferably arse I did."

"Well? The evidence is there."

"It was self-defense."

"Murder."

"He has no reason to murder a passerby!"

Alfred shrugged. "Listen, Artie. I haven't seen you for a w-while. This isn't exactly how I wanted us to meet up, again," Alfred chuckled nervously. "Is h-he your nephew or something?"

"An exceptional student."

The lawyer nodded solemnly. He slid his computer into his bag and snapped the buckled shut.

"Can we just…leave business and business alone? It's nice to see you-"

Arthur rubbed his eyebrow with his middle finger.

"Have you read your emails as of late."

The blue-eyed male shook his head no.

"Well," Arthur muttered, squeezing his eyes. "Just...just whatever." He turned on his heel to leave.

Alfred grabbed his shoulder. "Hey, man, wait up. I can tell that Peter dude means a lot to you and stuff, but just because I'm on the other side, doesn't mean we can't still talk and stuff. I mean there's big money and opportunities and stuff that come with this case, but it's not your battle…"

Arthur's face twitched at his words.

"I'm still here for a good weekend…we never finished that friends-dinner…"

"You're going to continue this case, right?"

_No. No. No._

"…I have to."

Arthur didn't want to look like a weakling and just nodded. He understood. He understood completely. However it happened, he wrapped his fingers around Alfred's wrist, and smiled. Alfred gave him a nervous and weak grin back.

Then Arthur's face turned into a straight line and he peeled Alfred's hand from his shoulder.

"Peter's waiting for me. It was nice to see you though."

Wait, what?

"Arthur-"

"I'll see you at court," Arthur said weakly, but not coldly.

"This can't break our friendship-"

"It hasn't, don't worry," Arthur assured. Alfred sighed, pushing his glassed up his nose.

"Will I see you before?"

"Probably not. I still teach, you know."

"Arthur…." Alfred whispered, trying to stop the Brit from just leaving (again). "Why does this kid even mean so much to you…?"

"He's got so much potential ahead of him. He grew up with _nothing._ You just don't understand. _And now you want to just ruin his world?_" Arthur said firmly, before latching onto the door and walking out. Behind the door, his muffled voice spoke.

"Delete the email I just sent you."

* * *

Wearing only a baggy white t-shirt with the McDonald's logo on it, and a pair of old college sweats, Alfred F. Jones lounged in his all-expense paid suite, his glasses pushed up against his glasses, his laptop on his belly, reading the same email over and over again.

He shouldn't have felt as bad as he did. For fu-k's sake, Arthur sent that email like last night. Why should Arthur feel so pissed off? It wasn't as if Alfred had JUST taken the job. Sheesh.

_"He grew up with nothing. You just don't understand."_

All Alfred wanted to do was just go home.

* * *

_Afterword; _

_yep...I am totally confusing the shat out of y'all..._

To Keep An Eye Out:

-who was Matthew talking to?

-the history of Alfred and the history of Arthur

-the brother-brother relationship of the Williams-Jones

-wutderhale happened to Francis? XD


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N;; excessive friendly FrUK, only :X sorry for the boring chapter. **

**Dandy.**

* * *

"Ugh, how did you get directions to my house?"

The Brit rubbed his eyes from fatigue, lifting his lids to glare his green-eyes toward the wide-grinning Frenchman at his door. It was an early morning, dawn still breaking through the day. Somehow, the world-renowned chef had risen up at the stroke of _early, early _morning, tied his silky blonde hair back and managed to look wide and awake in a red sweater and khakis. He had a thick wool scarf with the colours of the French flag draped artfully disarrayed around his slender neck, a cup of Starbucks in his hand. He waved amicably at the professor in front of him.

"Bonjour to you, too."

"Is there something you need?" Arthur asked, not really wanting to know the answer. It was a pretty well-known fact that he didn't like strangers in his house. Francis might have passed the checkpoint of Gilbert's life, but that didn't mean Arthur needed to see all his friends, especially not in at his door. Thank gosh the Frenchman had the morals to knock. If he had done what Alfred had done, and just turned the knob and broke in, Arthur might've had a small stroke at the crack of dawn.

"I am bored."

Really.

Arthur gestured for the man to come in and kick off his shoes. Peter was still sleeping on the couch, a thick quilt draped over his lanky teenager body. Francis quickly took notice of the blonde boy in Arthur's 'living room', but decided not to say anything. He didn't want to piss of the Brit _that _quick.

"Where is Gil?" Arthur asked with no emotion.

"Something about something about money," Francis waved off dismissively. His 'host' grunted and plucked a cup from his counter.

Even through thick and thin, Francis wasn't exactly used to the cramped space of the tenant. He heard of stories about the high real estate prices in the state, and it was only now that he realized that teachers probably made very little compared to what internationally-known celebrities or lucky businessmen made. Francis set his espresso down on the counter and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. Arthur shrugged at his visitor's choice of silence. It was deserved, Arthur thought. At least give me some time to wake up-

"You have work today, yes?"

"Of course, I do, you git-"

Francis clapped in glee. "I would be delighted to co-"

"No! I don't want your froggy germs touching my kitchen!"

"Froggy?"

Arthur rubbed his temples. "It's alright, Francis. I appreciate the thought, but Peter, he, uh, likes me cooking."

"You can cook?"

The Englishman gave him an unimpressed glance. Arthur filled a steel kettle with water and set his stove on, allowing the pot to boil. He crossed his arms and pursed his lips at the early-riser of a Frenchman. While his supplier of beer, the Prussian knob, seemed to find the chef great company, Arthur was more than skeptical. Francis felt the stare of the Brit a bit intimidating, and unconsciously backed away a bit. Before Arthur said anything, Francis lifted his finger.

"I will make you dinner, then! I understand, mornings should be a routine, but I will make something fabu-"

"Are you kidding me?!"

"No, not really."

"I barely know you!"

"And you are so funny~!"

"The hell! Shut up, or the boy'll wake up." Arthur hissed.

"Oh, sorry."

Arthur sighed and enunciated. "Why. Are. You. Actually. Here?"

Francis breathed in exasperation. He smiled brilliantly and looked into the eyes of the shorter Brit, ruffling his hair. Arthur's reflex reached for the French (haha) knife in the drawer to slice the chef's hand off, but he refrained, instead sending burning daggered looks back at the taller man.

"You're cute, mon cher. And I really am bored. Gilbert is off doing business, and his burly man of a brother is doing my cousin," Francis sighed, giving Arthur a look that had 'pity me' written all over it.

The Englishman did no such thing.

"So can I stay? Just for the day?"

"Don't you have any clients or connections-"

"Your flat is so _quaint,_" Francis supplied.

"Gee, thanks, git."

"_Du rien._"

The two stared at each other in silence, one smiling flirtatiously, with the other rolling his eyes.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

_Francis scrunched his nose in dismay as his co-worker drizzled the white chocolate icing onto the dessert. He had that urge to smack the other man away to conduct a better job. But said co-worker was a favourite (cough pet cough) of Francis's superior, and a filed assault would not make him breaking into the international business easy. The French sous-chef turned his back away and pretended he did not see a horribly done icing, waltzing 5 feet over to the bar that was opening up for the evening. Qualified bartender that specialized in alcohol buttoned their standard-issue gold and black vests and shirts for the night. Francis plucked a polished glass from the rack and waved it carefully in front of Michelle's face. The bronzed lady from Seychelles sighed n defeat, filling the glass with lovely white wine._

_"You need to stop making me give you freebies, Franny."_

_"But I am so worth it," Francis huffed, sipping his drink with a faux-pout. _

_Michelle chuckled, replacing the now-empty spot where a glass had been placed. She had a way with organizing, and artfully displayed some of the bottles on the glass stand in front of the black slate. Another bartender at Roma's was a quiet Taiwanese angel that excelled in friendly operations, and coincidently enough, art. Francis watched with amazement as the ebony-haired woman chalked in the names of the night's special drinks in smart and polished calligraphy. _

_"I hear we're getting some visitor's tonight. That's why Roma is freaking out in the back." _

_"They aren't critics, though," Mei's sweet voice chimed. _

_Michelle shrugged. "Well, whoever they are, they're like big."_

_Mei nodded in comprehension. Francis shrugged, and finished his glass._

* * *

_The man with the cocky attitude slid into the seat with an air of confidence and a wallet to match. Kurt Landon Artemis smiled coyly at the lovely dark-haired bartender, propping his chin on the fists. He was still slightly jet-lagged that he was in Italy, and was slightly turned off by all the French cuisine that was served. But nevertheless, alcohol was alcohol, and he really wanted to get buzzed. The petite bartender raised her eyebrows in surprise, but asked him politely what he wanted. _

_K.L. Artemis was a diligent private attorney from the British islands. His hair was an un-natural shade of light blonde, with punk-ish, rebellious slime-green highlights and his eyes looked an odd shade of green-blue, as in there were two layers of his iris colour. He looked rather youthful when he wore his plain black and silver garb with the patriotic Union Jack emblazoned everywhere, but often he was required by his superiors to put on a tie and clean shoes. Right now, he looked behind him to see the group of insufferable gits he was required to work with, the English group on their way to put away a disturbed mother to life, and give full custody to a baby girl to her father. To Artemis, this was a rather lame case, but he was going to be a crap-ton of money, and his conscience had long since deteriorated ever since he got his early, early, early degree to practice law. He requested a glass of his favourite Irish beer, and tapped his finger impatiently as Michelle went to the back room to re-stock._

_Standing basically un-noticed, Francis couldn't help but lick his lips at the younger man who slouched in the barstool without a care in the world. Not only was he rather attractive in Francis's opinion, but he embodied a life of success and power, and while Francis only wanted success, he couldn't help but smile, knowing the younger man would go far in life. He already made such a name for himself (or at least, what Mei was feeding him)._

_Nothing will stop me, Francis encouraged himself, arranging the cake display with such precise to his perfect eye._

X-X-X-X-X-X

Francis smirked to himself as the scene of him effortlessly throwing the irate Brit out of his own apartment, said Brit dressed haphazardly in a fitted sweater and his hair barely combed. He was screaming as loud as he could without waking up the stirring teenager. Eventually, Arthur let up and just walked out with his dignity, swearing to castrate the Frenchman later in the evening. Nevertheless, Francis was now fluttering around the small kitchenette, trying to make do with what little Arthur had.

And well, 43 seconds in, he knew he'd have to do some shopping for his new angry friend. For some reason, it was fun to be around such a grouchy person. Francis truly wondered in the back of his head how Arthur became such a scowl-y person, yet, had a heart of gold to take in the student who couldn't afford his dorm rent. Slightly creepy, but probably with good intentions.

"Uh, who the hell are you?"

Francis gasped at the unfamiliar male voice, the owner's accent laced with something European. He turned around and met the face of a blonde kid with equally abnormal eyebrows.

"Pete, is it?"

"Peter." Peter corrected.

"Right, uh, I am Arthur's friend!" Francis clapped.

Peter blinked, and mumbled something under his breath, but nodded.

"Oh, okay."

The two remained slightly when finally Francis decided he would go shopping for dinner. Peter nodded, and ended up back on his couch, his head deep into a thick novel, that from its age, hinted it was a classic. Francis felt slightly uneasy with the teenager around, and just decided it would be less awkward when he new friend arrived back. Francis was about to leave when a glint caught the corner of his eye.

Placed untouched, and unbuckled was a pristine, and definitely custom-made Tag Hueur watch that Francis was sure as hell a regular college professor could not afford. Peter seemed to not notice, allowing Francis the chance to see it. It was truly a beaut.

Turning the watch over, Francis's eyes squinted as he took in the carving on the back of the face, K L A etched in with precision.

Why did those letters sound so familiar?

X-X-X-X-X-X

Alfred stood outside the orphanage, his hands wrapped around the takeout cup of Starbucks. It wasn't the worst day, but the temperature was dropping.

It was almost 4:25, and he was sure Arthur would arrive in another few minutes. After all, Lilli had told him when the Brit usually showed up.

* * *

_Afterword;_

_OMG, so much Francis and Arthur friendship/interaction -pulls out hair- I personally don't mind FrUK, but it's not favourite. I had to revive the USUK - _

_&& yes, meet Kurt Landon Artemis, my horribly chosen alias :X _

_Thanks for the reviews/ favourites xx_

_**UPDATE: Through out the story, I've done a terrible misuse of the term of Alfred's occupation. You will see him being referred to **__lawyer, attorney _etc, but thanks to a great reader Tori-Colour-Bastia, he should be a criminal prosector X) Either way, I will eventually get to fixing that, but all that you need to know is he makes a lot of money in the field of law :D, at least for now. 


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N;; This chapter will reveal everything. This 'KLA' is not an OC; rather, what it stands for is as close to a blunt alias as I could concoct. I think most of you already understand where I'm going with this, and this chapter will just solidify as least ****_one _****character's background. Yerp. **

***WARNING; epic confusion is possible :D but just leave a comment, and I'll try to sort anything out in the next chapter & thanks for sticking it out x) this is my first fan-fic, as a reminder ***

******UPDATE: Through out the story, I've done a terrible misuse of the term of Alfred's occupation. You will see him being referred to _lawyer, attorney _etc, but thanks to a great reader Tori-Colour-Bastia, he should be a _criminal prosector_ X) Either way, I will eventually get to fixing that, but all that you need to know is he makes a lot of money in the field of law, and unrealistically young :D, at least for now.**

**Dandy.**

* * *

An un-amused scowl crawled its way onto Arthur's face when his tracks were stopped by an oblivious blue-eyed blonde noticed his arrival, and started to wave. Arthur swallowed that small lump in his throat and was _very close _to throttling the boy, but calmed his composure and walked up to the American, very, very curious to see as to what the other man wanted. Alfred gave the shorter man a small grin and offered the cup of tea from Starbucks to the professor. Arthur raised an eyebrow at the drink, quickly assuming it was coffee (to which, as you might know, Arthur was rather impartial to). The bespectacled man chuckled half-heartedly, and revealed by removing the lid it was a steeped leaves. The Brit gave Alfred a weird look but accepted the hot beverage.

Alfred seemed content with that and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his thick wool pea coat. He couldn't tell if he face turned pink from the light autumn winds, or seeing Arthur in such a calm state. It wasn't exactly new, but it was relieving.

"Are you going inside…?"

"I can't see the kids, not today," Arthur said matter-of-factly. "I came to drop off some things for Vash, but I have to get home. It was not fun waking up to that annoying Frenchman so early, and like hell I'm letting him make me dinner without me there."

Alfred twitched involuntarily, slowly processing his words.

"F-Frenchman?" Alfred chuckled nervously.

Arthur didn't even realize that what he said might have been misconstrued. He shut his eyes as the lukewarm tea ran pas his lips and down his throat. "That narcissus flirt, Francis something-something. That git is so loud- almost woke Peter at the crack of dawn. I'm still tired from what he put me through so early in the morning."

Alfred nodded, assuring himself not to over-think. He tried to swivel the conversation elsewhere. "Your day was good?"

"Content." Arthur shrugged honestly. "What're you doing here? You have a day off?"

"Ah, sort of. The old guys just needed notes from uh…the other day to compare and shi-." Alfred leaned against the building to keep him from slouching. He figured Arthur was the kind to be picky about good posture and all that shite. Arthur bore a very calm and understanding aura, and even though it was nice, it was mildly creepy and intimidating. As if Arthur knew many things that Alfred didn't.

Arthur brought he cup down. "Alfred, did you have something you needed to say? I'm standing right here, just tell me."

"Are you still mad…?"

"Heavens no."

"I read your email…"

"I asked you to delete that."

"Well, I did, I guess."

"Alfred, it was please me immensely if you stop beating around the bush."

Alfred nodded weakly.

"Before we go to court and my team like whips Peter's arse- hey stop glaring!-, I just want to say…" Alfred paused, sucking in his cheeks to try to figure out the proper words to construct his confession. The Brit looked downright confused, as if he was talking to a mentally-insane person, and about to run away as fast as he could. Alfred smiled and somehow found his long and strong arms wrap around Arthur's. "…You remind me of someone."

_Oh, wow,_ Arthur thought. _I feel so complimented. _

"But wait," Alfred mumbled, his chin resting on Arthur's shoulder. Even though Arthur felt slightly uneasy in the embrace, he was willing to listen. He could feel Alfred's heavy breaths as the younger man tried to get out what he needed to say. Arthur's fingers wrapped tighter around the Starbucks cup, inhaling and exhaling through his nose as he waited for the rest of Alfred's words.

Alfred released his hold on the other man, his cheeks slightly flushed.

"I used to look up to this guy; this guy my mom said was hero. I don't know what happened to him, but for some reason you remind me of him. And this sounds like bullshit, like I made it up, because I just realized it. He's long dead, my idol, and I grew up, wanting to be like him, and that's why I'm glad…we're _friends._"

Arthur nodded slowly, processing those words.

Alfred laughed quietly. "My hero died four years ago, officially, I guess. He was from Britain, too. You might know him. Well, anyway, before his death, he was already dying to me. He did the last thing that made me sort of despise him…"

This raised Arthur's eyebrows.

"And you know what; maybe that's what I'm doing." Alfred whispered.

Eh?

"Don't change Arthur, okay? Once this is over, if Peter really gets sent away, don't hate me."

Memories flooded into Arthur's brain.

"I don't know how Artemis did it, sending the mother away for life from her child, how he _lived _with that guilt. I just…I'm going to need someone."

"Surely you've done cases-" Arthur whispered hesitantly

"I have. And it was my brother who consoled me and those big guys that promoted me that wrote my paycheques that made things okay. But they weren't really."

"You're laying all this heavy on me, rather fast, aren't you?"

"For some reason, I don't know why, but every time I talk to you, it's as if you've gone through worse, or understand. Even if you're only a teacher."

His arm twitched and sent the tea splashing against Alfred's shirt.

"Oh, ah, this feels familiar, huh?" the American said, trying to lighten the mood.

* * *

_"Thank you again, so much,"_ _Mr. Roberts chuckled. The business magnate cross the 'T' in his signature and handed over the cheque without regret to his lawyer. Kurt Landon Artemis smirked in response, checking the cheque for any signs of faultiness. When he deemed the six-figure payment acceptable, the esteemed British lawyer shook hands with his employer, and saw him drive off in his Italian sports car, out of the lawyer's sight._

_It had been a grueling case, but it was another victory in the name of 'Kurt Landon Artemis'. But then again, as printed on all the glossy magazines and newspapers, it was _Kurt Landon's _victory. Arthur Kirkland had no relation to the case. At least, not to the general public. _

_The 23-almost-24 year old, one of the rare cases of quick ascension through the ranks of law practice, locked his door and stuffed the cheque into his back pocket. As he bolted up the stairs, he removed his nose ring and tossed his grey blazer aside. By the time he waltzed into his private office, he had removed his blue contact lenses and was only wearing his pressed trousers and his tattered Beatles t-shirt. Arthur gave the cheque one last look before putting it neatly into his wallet. He removed his prized Tag Heuer watch and placed the customized accessory on his desk. _

_Arthur unlocked his cabinet and grabbed the plastic bottle of pills as if it were routine again and dropped a pill into his throat, taking it dry. There was no point- he was too used to the mental relaxer. _

_The British lawyer took a seat in his leather chair and just sat there in silence. It ate him all up._

_Mrs. Roberts aghast face when it was declared her only daughter would be in 'possession' of her vile, wealthy-as-hell, secretive bastard of an ex. _

_The smug look on Mr. Roberts's face when the gavel hit. _

_The poker face of the 7 year old, masking over the heartbreak._

_"I can't believe…I just…" Arthur whispered to himself._

_Eventually, his drugs kicked in and everything sent him to blackness, forgetting it all._

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

It was _his _fifth case, when the late British lawyer had been about 22 that the then teenage Alfred F. Jones had decided that he would study criminology and law, and all the good stuff. At the time, the esteemed man across the pond made sure the innocent were protected, and Alfred admired him for that, especially since the young Brit usually did it for those who couldn't defend themselves. But as time went on, when the teenager graduated high school and began at a mediocre college, that idol of his shifted from small cases, and was breaking ranks and making headline cases his victories, rather than stick it out in the small volunteer firm he began at.

The Brit was claimed 'disappeared', and almost 'dead' by the media weeks after his last case- a high profile custody case. He had won of course, but then secluded himself days after. Only a matter of time before the 23 year old was officially missing.

His mother supported his choice, and almost pushed him to take on more. Charisma got him quick internships by 20, and he was becoming a new rare case of those in law that were exceptionally young. By 21 and a half, Alfred F. Jones moved out to the big city. Before he knew it, when he found himself working with prosecutions more than defences.

* * *

Afterword;

Me in General: "...derhale."  
Me while Typing: "...This moves on too fast."  
Me while Thinking: "...I need to be more clear."  
If the Characters were here: "...First Arthur no like, then Alfred like, then Arthur panic-attack, then Alfred derp, then long pause, then Alfred still derps, and Arthur like 'iderno', and then bam, reunion, and Arthur derp, and Alfred like wut, now Alfred like weird story and Arthur derps tea on Alfred."  
& my final response is "...Yeah..."

Haha, sorry / SO romantic, huh?


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N;; AGHH! Long since I updated last (I think like an entire week) D: Thanks for those still sticking with it. Trying to get it moving along. Comment are widely appreciated. You don't know how much it's helped motivate me.**

**Dandy xx**

* * *

Francis hummed to the sound of the mainstream-overdosed radio station that Peter had turned the knob to, shaking his admirable rump as he stirred risotto in the big pan. The teenager tried to ignore the pervy Frenchman, eyes focused on his novel. The two hadn't gotten along very well. Peter seemed to act quite a bit like his professor, and while Francis didn't mind the older Brit one bit, he felt compelled to at least somewhat bond with the teenager. People usually took a quick liking to the chef, and if not the chef, then his food. It was quite possible that Peter would be the same.

"Do you like pepper, mon cher?" Francis asked, shaking the plastic pepper shakers to the boy.

Peter shook his head.

"Ou, peut-etre salt?"

"En peu," Peter mumbled, flipping the page.

Francis seemed content with the answer and dashed some salt into the rice dish. He pulled out an old casserole dish that Arthur had in his cupboard and dished out the contents. Peter's nose twitched because damn, even with Arthur's minimal food items, the chef had somehow concocted something drool-worthy. Guess you don't get international accolades for nothing.

"Smells delicieux, oui?"

Peter nodded. The Frenchman gladly handed over a dish to the boy.

"What do you want to know?" Peter muttered under his breath. The older man set the pan down and propped his chin in his palm, leaning on the counter. Francis sighed.

"What is your story? Why do you live here?"

"Facing some troubles," Peter responded in a monotonous tone.

"You must think your teacher is a kind man?"

Peter chuckled, "He's a jerk, let's be honest, but he's cool."

As the boy continued to eat and all around ignore Francis's presence, the chef took his chance to scour Arthur's desk. Piles of papers were organized neatly in coloured clips and wire trays held papers Francis assumed were marked (telling by the large red marks). The Frenchman was never too interested in English literature, but it was nice to look at all the aged books. Francis dug the watch out of his pocket and inspected it. He wasn't a thief- and he could afford a watch similar if he wanted- and set it down in its earlier position. Francis lamented over the fact to himself that Arthur's life seemed so secretive. Why did he suddenly have such an interest with the watch.

Francis sighed, and pulled out a few random drawers, not amused by the piles of lined paper, reading glass cases…and an odd pile of shiny pens.

They weren't pens a teacher typically used to mark, but they rolled in one of the drawers like no one's business. If Francis knew better, he would've been sure those pens belonged in conference rooms of the United Nations, or perhaps even used by big CEOs. Montblanc, Tiffany, Swarovski rolled over Francis's eyes. His graceful fingers picked up a Crossed Century pen with the same off initials personalized on.

This Arthur Kirkland seemed to have a penchant for those 3 letters.

"Monsieur Angleterre must have an old lover," Francis whispered. It was the only explanation his mind could draw.

It was _obviously a good_ conclusion.

X-X-X-X-X-X

"_You picked up,"_ Elizabeta sighed in relief.

"Of course- I saw you number flashing. I would not ignore you. How do you do?"

"Fine, Mr. Kirkland. Well, I'm fine in a sense. We have some troubles."

Arthur flinched.

_"I think it's very important you have a long chat with Peter…things…aren't looking bright." _

"Oh…"

_"You were there last meeting. You must have picked something up, things that are not helping out cause."_

Yes, Arthur had been there, but he'd sort of spent all his attention with a poker-face staring at Alfred.

"Er, yes, of course."

_"Then you understand where I'm coming from…"_

"He has parents…back in Europe. Oh, this will kill him."

_"I will be going to see the only witness we've pinned for this case. Poor boy Is still in post-traumatic stress…"_

"The one who is friends with the dead man?"

_"Yes, Arthur."_

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. He really, _really _didn't know how the next few words came out.

"Elizabeta…could you please pull up Google and type in _2008 Roberts Case._ Are you at your office? I wish to speak to you privately."

X-X-X-X-X-X

The 23-almost-24 year old tossed his keys and wallet into the little wooden bowl that sat on the counter of his hotel suite, swinging the Sub-Zero fridge open. His large hands swiped the cool bottle of Coors from the bar and he popped it open with ease, gulping down the smooth, fizzy drink. Alfred F. Jones pulled out his phone and powered it on, checking to see all the missed calls he was sure he'd gotten. The American had a knack for powering off his phone in the most inconvenient of times. Alfred set his beer down and leaned on the table.

He'd gotten some from his superiors to remind him to listen over the recording of the meeting and get whatever points Alfred could use against the accused. He was planning to do that anyway, so he decided he didn't need to all back. A few texts from his brother and-

Alfred's eyes froze over the number.

His heart filled with glee as he looked over, trying to clarify with himself that it was his mother that had called.

Oh, wait! A Voicemail!

Alfred pressed the 'Listen' button of his phone and pressed the speaker into his ear.

"_Alfred, sweetie, I'm sorry I haven't gotten a hold of you recently. They don't suggest more radiation than necessary, here._

_Sweetie, your brother tells me you're up against a big case. Is this true? Good for you- you're a hero for putting down justice._

_Listen, Alfred, the treatment they've tried to give me is not working. My retirement fund will be plummeted with the thought of what they wish to try. I understand it's not very cheap to live in Manhattan, but I am not asking for much. I've sent a letter from my doctor. Have Mattie fax it over_

_Please don't hesitate to email me, honey. I've missed you. _

_Mamma."_

X-X-X-X-X-X

Arthur chewed on the tip of his thumb as Elizabeta pressed the space bar for the next few lines to continue.

"_…Just passed the Zwingli Orphanage, I was on my way to Mr. Kirkland's. There was a large shadow, so I stopped. _

_I heard chuckling and knuckle crunching, and adrenaline rushed through me. _

_They called out 'Eyebrows', and then jerked my back. _

_I don't know them. If you ever find the other man, it would explain it all. I acted on instinct, self defense, no less._

_So I grabbed him with all the strength I could-"_

Arthur's fingers hit the space bar to pause the recording.

Elizabeta cocked her head slightly. "You have something to say."

The Brit chuckled nervously, and scratched his own eyebrows. "Coincidence."

"Quite."

Arthur leaned back against his chair and watched thought long and hard. When instructed to do so, Elizabeta continued to play back the interview. He noted her fist clench at the points where they were sure the prosecutors would pin upon Peter.

Then it hit him.

"Wait! Replay that!"

Elizabeta looked bewildered and scrolled back a few seconds.

X-X-X-X-X-X

A steaming cup of black instant coffee was wedged between his knees as the American half-sat up while playing back the interview on his laptop. His glasses were perched up, and he had pulled up a blank WordDocument that he was using to jot down obvious notes. He was sure that whatever he got, it was probably noted down by his superiors. The eldest one, Mr. Lake, would be the head prosecutor, and he was known to not miss fine details. Alfred got as much as he could before he heard the one line.

"_…He said he'd seen me the night before? I did not! October 5? I wasn't out that night. He was lying!"_

October 5th.

The date sounded so familiar.

"_…And then he said that _I'd _punched him or something that day? I wasn't there!_"

Alfred set his laptop down and took the warm beverage into his hands.

That was the night Arthur had run out.

Right….

Whatever, it was old news.

They were good.

_Ugh. It still bothers me,_ Alfred groaned to himself.

He set his laptop and coffee down, and turned his entire body around so he lay face flat on the small futon in his room. There were priorities he had to get through, and right now, lamenting over a screwed up dinner should not be one of them. Alfred head-sofa'd into the piece of furniture to remind himself that he just needed to act like this case was the world to him, smile to his superiors, patch things up for Arthur, pray that Peter wasn't sent for life, and call up his brother for his mother's letter. Alfred didn't realize when he'd fallen asleep.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Arthur capped back the marker once he'd finished vandalizing the white board in the room. Most of his writing was legible, but all that mattered really was that the grammar was correct. His brunette woman in front of his scanned all the words and followed the arrows that the Brit had written on lightning speed. His thesis was circled repeatedly, and his conclusion seemed almost impossible. It was a freak nature of a coincidence. They had a chance at saving the teenager.

Meanwhile, the beer-loving Englishman was slightly pissed off. This was such a pity win, or felt like it. All he needed was himself to possibly win the case. He had dealt with so many more headache-inducing cases- this was such a stupid thing. It was all based on a shared physical feature, and involved the Brit no less. Everything they needed was right in front of them. If the sole witness could support just that, they would be home free. Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. Yeah, this really was a stupid easy win.

At least he'd figured that out.

_Need I remind who I am?~_

_Get away, git!_

"Do…you really trust that? It won't sound promising as you're his guardian at the moment!"

"I won't correct you there, poppet. I was with Alfred. If his brain can recall what time I fled, it would make sense. I even went to see a clinic the morning after for a quick checkup. They can pull up records there. It has to be it! There's no other reason! It was dark, and Peter is almost as tall as me. Similar hair colour, our eyes are different too, but under false lighting, whatever!"

Elizabeta still felt unsure.

"You'll be asked to stand and recount how you treated the attacker."

"I barely left a scratch, so be it."

The defense lawyer re-read over everything he wrote, slowly picking up strategic methods of Arthur's layout of his theory.

"Mr. Kirkland, don't be offended, but who _are _you?"

X-X-X-X-X-X

"Why haven't you left yet?"

"Well, your professor has not arrived home. It's late."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"You don't seem to need parents either. Where are they?"

"Between a rock and a hard place."

"C'est tragique."

"You don't know the half of it."

"Mon cher, does Monsieur Kirkland have a….perhaps, significant other?"

"He's sort of uptight to be dating don't you think?"

Francis got up from the sofa and handed over the watch.

"It's a very expensive watch if you cannot tell. And it's personalized," Francis said, turning over the face.

"I don't know? Why do you care so much?"

"Think, mon cher, what is with those initials? It's been bothering me."

"Why in blazes were you snooping? If Mr. Kirkland had an ex-lover before then he did."

"If it were an ex, he would have pawned this, don't you think?"

"He had a pass life! Who cares? Why are you interrogating me!"

"…For some reason, I feel like we know the similar person, someone long and gone." Francis lifted the watch. "And if Arthur knew him, I'd like to know more."

* * *

Afterword;;

1. You may or may not remember Francis's earlier years where he saw a certain punk-ish Sir.

2. Such a cheesy way for Peter to be saved, huh xD Granted, it was figured out earlier.

3. I think the witness interview and identity revelations come next chapter :D

See you next update. Hopefully it won't be 7 days from now XP


	20. Chapter 20

**a/n;; badly written update is bad :D sorry for the lack of updates/ ducks head. if you can't tell, i've been moving things on very fast :S but we've reached a climax in this chapter I THINK**

**xx Dandy**

* * *

His pen ran fluidly across his standard issue chequebook, a small smile on his face. Alfred peered at the faxed letter to see if the zeroes were the right amount, and scrawled on his heroically-awesome signature on the right bar. The young man had his glassed perched on top of his head, and his fingers on his other hand were wrapped around the silver fork, the prongs pierced in crispy slices of bacon. He had a few more days in the borough before he would be taking a drive back to his home. Matthew had left him numerous messages, or so his iPhone told him, but the 23-year old had yet to check. Alfred crossed the final t's on the _thousands _and ripped the cheque from its binding.

The American chewed on his bacon and eggs, nodding his head down to allow gravity to drop his glasses from the crown of his head and land neatly on the bridge of his nose. He pushed his cheques aside and pulled closer his computer. In the afternoon, Alfred would be accompanying his colleagues to meet the only prime witness in the case- a friend of the Russian victim, a Toris Lauritantis. Alfred had already gotten a background check on the poor friend, who as of late had been attending rehabilitation sessions to ease his mentality after the post-traumatic kicked in. Alfred's eyes flickered off his loading computer screen to notice his plate was empty.

As his desktop icons popped up, Alfred picked up his iPhone- once again ignoring his brother's messages- and entered the front desk number.

"Can I get another breakfast deluxe in Suite 1776?"

Alfred then hung up and drew up the news journal that documented big law cases. He often picked up names he remembered, big ones on the rise.

The headline today made his head whip, and do a double take.

**TWO WEEKS UNTIL BRAGINSKI CASE TO COMMENCE: Experts Say Young Up-and-Comer Alfred Freedom Jones the Backbone to Justice**

_"…Braginski matriarch is anticipating a life-term for the perpetrator…Katyusha Braginski has mentioned she will be advocating the State's judiciary system when things are set straight and she can move on with her life..."  
""Yes, we have sent some of our best for this tragedy. Mr. Jones was definitely a top choice. I expect greatness with him working with some of the top men in the legal system.""  
"It will mark a milestone and many are already rooting for the young to idolize criminal prosecutor, Alfred Freedom Jones in seeking justice. It's been years since we've seen such remarkable work at such a young age. Many of you may recall the tragic disappearance of Kurt Landon Art-"_

Alfred had to blink back. The journal he was reading was mainly a blog between colleagues, but if the writer thought these were true, it made his heart swell just a bit.

He, Alfred Jones, was supporting his ailing mother, an upcoming idol to students, and above all, being compared to his hero.

Maybe he deserved a sundae to go with his breakfast.

He would also have to thank his superior colleagues later for the nice comments.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Amelia Jones held her cup of water at her lips, twitching ever so often.

Her life had spiralled, gone up and down again.

Matthew knew everything, and it was just a matter before Alfred did, too. She couldn't let that happen.

The mother of two, two successful young men gazed around her one bedroom apartment. She lived just on the outskirts of Upper Manhattan, hidden in the world of drugs and fake love. If Alfred found out, she could never live the end of it.

Her head was still slightly hung-over from last night's tryst to feel young and wanted again. Her eyeslids drooped, and she could barely make out her telephone ringing. Of course, it was her temporary cell phone.

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

"…_I can't believe you actually got to him. He'll find out one day. You may not be bedridden and on life support yet, but you're still sick._"

* * *

"_..Hey, Ma? Hang in there- you'll feel better. I'm the hero, right? You told me how to be years ago, and now I am. Just don't leave. Hang in there." _

X-X-X-X-X-X-

Toris scanned the intimidating room with caution, trying not to make direct eye contact with anyone. Men in suits gave him soft glances every once in a while, and even that made his shift in his seat. He didn't want to be here, but he had been sort of commissioned to by the law. He still thought his treatments should be ongoing, but they had at least been paused temporarily to allow the Lithuanian to stand and speak in court, or at least with the men and women responsible for the legal matters. According to one particularly young-looking man, they were just waiting for the defense lawyer on the side. Toris flinched, but nodded to say that he understood. Those already in the room had many papers and pens sprawled in front of them, and Toris found himself clutching onto the hems of his shirt. What were they planning to ask?

"Do you want something to eat while you wait? We can call in some food…?" the same young American asked. He had an expression of soft sympathy for the man.

Toris shook his head. "I just ate."

"Hey, don't look so scared. The woman coming is only here for like a few seconds, I think. We just need to know what happened _exactly._"

Toris nodded.

"I know I owe it to the law-"

The doors flew open, and Elizabeta gave a sigh of relief. Her long brown hair had been put up haphazardly into a messy bun, with his Bic pen pierced through the centre to keep everything in place. She gave a nod to acknowledge the others.

"Gentleman, we have something to discuss…"

X-X-X-X-X-X

Three loud rams slammed against Arthur's door that evening.

On the other side of the door, Francis was getting yelled at by Arthur as to his return. Francis had gone back to Gilbert's earlier in the day and slept over at the Beilscmidt's again, but returned when the sun had started to set. Arthur hadn't had time to deal with the Frenchman's weird questions- it got to the point where Arthur had flat out given him false answers. Of course, the chef wasn't too much of an airhead. They had ended up being taught by Francis how to properly make oatmeal.

Arthur's head snapped when he heard his door being knocked on. Francis and Peter turned to the door.

"Peter, could you get Francis a spare shirt. Go get changed you two. We have unexpected company." Arthur dusted himself off. Somehow, oat dust and cinnamon had found themselves attaching to Arthur's old button down. He grumbled to the guest that he was approaching.

Alfred.

The Brit blinked and concluded from the American's blank stare that Elizabeta had presented the paper that Arthur had typed up. Alfred had probably been reprimanded behind closed doors from his superiors, but it was everything but the American's fault. Alfred licked his lips- he was speechless. Arthur stepped aside to allow the other man to come in. The apartment seemed to smell of sugar and warm grains. Despite it being dark outside, it was a homey smell, something he had always wished for at the crack of dawn back in Virginia.

"I…Liz spoke to you all, didn't she…?" Arthur whispered. If he had known it had been Alfred, he would have asked Francis and Peter to kindly jump out the window.

"I know you would never bullshit your way out to save your student, but don't fuc-ing lie…is it all true?" Alfred spoke, trying to not add any venom in his words. He was still recovering from shock at the revelation of this possible outcome.

Yes, Alfred still refused to believe anything.

Arthur chuckled, "The human wall of a Russian isn't exactly at our disposal to as-"

"You know we just lost a case then, if everything can be proved."

"It's just one case-"

"You don't understand, Arthur. This was supposed to seal everything for me." Alfred enunciated. "I've always been good, I've _always _been good. But this! THIS! How was I supposed to win?" The blue-eyed man just shook his head, pacing around the minimal space in the apartment. Arthur just shied away, praying that Peter and Francis were listening- of course they could hear through the paper thin walls, and know that it was crucial they did not step out.

Alfred's Italian leather shoes stopped, and Arthur could almost see his brain clicking and calculating. Alfred's toe turned and walked up to the bookshelf. He scanned it quickly before he spotted the few, older, editions of books Alfred remembered reading from law school. Arthur pressed his lips together. He had recently removed them from hiding under his desk when he needed to double check and brush up on some things. Elizabeta had been impressed, and shocked to say the least.

"Arthur, you're an English teacher. Why are these on your book shelf?" Alfred asked, waving them, his back still turned to Arthur. The atmosphere was sort of tense and cold, and Arthur wasn't sure how it'd escalated so quickly.

"Alfred, put them down. I can explain. I didn't know! Honest. But when I was speaking to Eliza, things sort of clicked. I mean, surely you can see the scary resemblance I have with Peter-"

"Why? Why did you have to suggest your stupid idea? Now Ben and Bob had sent the papers back to Manhattan to have them reviewed. And-"

"You didn't lose a case. There was no winner. It'll just change the severity of things. Listen, Alfred."

"I can't! This has never happened, and the fact I completely didn't know!"

"You don't need to know everything!"

Alfred dropped the books, and turned around.

"I'm…sorry. I really am."

Arthur crossed his arms. He was still thanking the heavens that the French wanker and his student hadn't decided to burst through the doors and toss Alfred out. The bloody tall American, whose eyes went from angelic to piercing intimidation, looked a bit lost. Arthur couldn't help but allow his stomach to sink. He had never been in Alfred's exact place, per se, but he knew how it felt to feel beaten, to feel like you're no longer on top. His years of ascent up the judicial system hadn't been the best years of his life the entire time. It ended with a win, but at a loss.

"Those books are mine…because I've read them…"

"Just, just forget about it. I overreacted."

"No, I just feel, like you need to know something…"

"Arthur, how badly hurt were you? Why did you run away? I don't think I've heard you honestly tell me!"

Arthur shook his head. "Alfred…"

"Stop ignoring me. How did he hurt you-"

"DAMMIT, Alfred, hush!"

The American looked a bit taken back, but he did just that. Arthur walked over to his desk and began rummaging through his papers to retrieve the prototype chart that he'd drawn up for Eliza, bullet points and everything organized in a fashion that Arthur had used to use. He handed it to Alfred.

"For whatever reason you're upset, confused, angry, shocked, you should drop it. Intense stress can trigger mental issues down the road."

Alfred gestured to the scribbles. "You remember him, huh? You Brits?"

"Remember?"

"Remember that idol I had years ago, who died? He organized his theories like this. I never copied it cuz it seems to precious, but you've got to perfect for an English prof."

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, when the door of his bedroom cracked open.

Francis, his bloody hair undone from his pony tail, and shirtless (but gripping a shirt that was obviously Arthur's) walked out.

Alfred's face twitched at the sight of Francis's toned body exposed, coming out of Arthur's bedroom. He hadn't questioned Arthur's unusually scrunched on shirt and hastiness when he'd knocked on the door.

_Stop it, Al, there will be no surprises. You've had enough for a day. You aren't going to get another shock, don't wor-_

"You're Monsieur Artemis, aren't you, Arthur?" the chef accused.

* * *

Afterword;;

see? Fast, huh?

_cleefhanger :D_


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N- :') TY for all the comments / reviews. I love them all, good or bad. This quick update is a semi-thank you, but mainly a 'Term is Ending (school) and updates won't be as frequent :X Regardless, this is somewhat of FILLER. It's a bit boring, honestly, but yeah. Not too many chapters, only a few in fact, before the end. **

**xx Dandy**

* * *

All the blood in Alfred's usually tan countenance paled, his eyebrows twitching and lips construed in a confused manner. Francis inhaled sharply as he felt the atmosphere around him tighten and freeze over Arthur just looked _lost, _but the way he crossed and uncrossed his arms didn't confirm, nor deny Francis's accusation. Francis stepped out of the bedroom doorway, and walked closer to the other two blondes.

"…I don't know what you're talking about, Frog," Arthur mumbled finally.

"What…what kind of question is that, Frenchie?" Alfred hissed. He pointed at Arthur's quietness. "HE is an English prof- Artemis is DEAD. Wh-WHY are you even here?!"

"Arthur…"

When the Brit didn't respond, Alfred grabbed his shoulders. "He's kidding right? There's NO wa-"

"Whoever you're talking about is most likely deceased."

Francis sighed in exasperation. He took two long strides toward the Alfred's desk. The luxurious watch had been under a few papers, and pretty much ignored by Arthur and Alfred. The former hadn't even had time (haha) to realize he hadn't been wearing his old accessory for a while now. Arthur sucked in a deep breath, and was already ahead in where Francis was leading this. Francis picked up the accessory with great care and turned its face around. He hovered it below Alfred's glasses. The American picked up the carved initials almost immediately.

"…The 2007 design dispute…" Alfred whispered. "This was gifted th to Artemis after he won-…" Arthur snatched the watch back.

"Give it back."

"Why do you have it?" Alfred countered.

"Why is _HE _your bloody idol?" Arthur shot back.

"French-dude says it's YOU! You don't look anything like hi-" The American was cut short. Undoubtedly, Arthur possessed the appropriate height, but from his memory, the English attorney was a very young-looking bloke. He had green hair, always wore either a poker face or cocky smirk, and random facial jewellery. Arthur crossed his arms and turned around. He could feel his past-self keeling over laughing. It was enough to want to shove both the Frenchman and American out.

"…Well, I don't think I would want to-"

"You still have your nose ring on your bureau," Francis murmured. Alfred's jaw dropped at the news.

Arthur lost it. His right hand sliced the air and pressed against Francis's cheek, leaving a blooming red mark. Alfred looked back between Arthur and Francis. He shut his eye, and allowed the face of Kurt Landon Artemis- was that even his real name?- come into focus. He remembered the clipping on the 2008 case, the last case, "Artemis" had been in before he disappeared into the air. If everything that Francis was trying to bring upon the table was correct, he didn't just disappear- he flew across the bloody Atlantic. His brain compared two face portraits, as if he could imagine those god-awful license photos from the DMV. Sure, Arthur was 28…which would have made 'Artemis'…24….and in 2008….he was just that.

"When's your birthday?" Alfred asked.

Francis rubbed his cheek, and turned to Arthur. That had been one of the questions that he had asked the Brit earlier. Arthur just scowled, and turned around. He felt no sympathy or guilt for slapping Francis hard against his bloody cheek, and he was NOT under any obligation to answer Alfred's question. Admitting the truth would just solidify the truth.

"It sure as hell is not what you told me," Francis chimed. He wasn't bitter over the strike- it was more or less deserved.

"You don't know half the pain he's caused."

The tone of Arthur's voice intimidated Francis and Alfred.

"Just…go, you two. Get out."

The Brit didn't even bother to shove them. He just stuffed the watch in his back pocket, turned around and headed to the washroom. Alfred restrained himself from grabbing Arthur's shoulders. What did he mean by all the pain? Arthur was in pain?

"You like him, don't you?"

Alfred turned is gaze at the other blond. "Oh, what?"

"I think if you want him to ever finish off this discussion, we should do leave him to be for a bit."

"We can't-"

"We should. You're smart- I think you can put one and one together. Love is such a vile thing, isn't it?"

Alfred just gave Francis an odd look. What did the French know about love. Pfft.

X-X-X-X-X-X

_"I don't know how Artemis did it, sending the mother away for life from her child, how he lived with that guilt. I just…I'm going to need someone." _

_"Surely you've done cases-" Arthur whispered hesitantly._

_"I have. And it was my brother who consoled me and those big guys that promoted me that wrote my paycheques that made things okay. But they weren't really."_

_"You're laying all this heavy on me, rather fast, aren't you?" _

_"For some reason, I don't know why, but every time I talk to you, it's as if you've gone through worse, or understand. Even if you're only a teacher." _

The diner waitress slid the large (and falling apart) hamburger at her customer, slowly getting an impression the fellow was falling asleep with his eyes open. Whoever this man was, he dressed awfully nice, but still bore a resemblance of a rambunctious teenager who seemed sort of love struck. The waitress didn't want to intrude of the man's thinking, but she did know that the chef used processed cheese, and the meat patty was its best when the cheese still tasted rather soft and gooey, not solidifying and cool.

"Mister?"

_He reminds me _him,Alfred mouthed. _He is _him.

A small tug on his shirt woke the American out of his daze.

"Sir, your burger…"

"Hu- oh! Oh, right!" Alfred frowned. "Can I get it to go?"

Well, the waitress thought, so much for gooey cheese.

* * *

For a hefty fee, a certain 'Prussian' had sold to him a crate of Arthur's favourite Irish beer. The man that was 'in-love' with Alfred's younger brother had not really understood anything the American was saying when Alfred had spazzed to him about how to apologize to Arthur. Truthfully, Alfred didn't know why he was apologizing. He'd done what Arthur wanted him to- leave. Alfred figured it would be a peace offering. He needed to talk to the Brit. Something weird in his chest throbbed, saying he would never be at peace with himself if he just left Arthur to be. It was probably what Arthur wanted to do anyway, but Alfred was a determined person.

He didn't want to ever seen Arthur cry. And now… he was Alfred's idol. He wanted to know everything, and he'd rather die than say something that would hurt Arthur.

But that wasn't the only reason he felt the need to take a cab to Arthur's.

_It didn't feel like Alfred was attracted to Arthur. Alfred never truly understood what it meant to like someone, never finding and understanding the thin line between wanting to be friends, and wanting more that platonic friendship. He racked through his brain, and all he got was that Arthur was a man who poured beer on him as an introduction. Then somehow, his realization of being lonely drew him closer to the man who had not seemed like the type to ever want to be with him. It was a weird way to think, actually, Alfred said to himself._

Maybe that was it. Maybe…the weird encounter, the short time together, the awkwardness, the back and forth was more than a series of coincidences. It was a weird way to bring them together.

The scowl that Arthur wore could be endearing to Alfred- the Brit did a poor job of trying to look not flustered or blush. He _liked _that the Briton liked drinking past his limits. He hated his cat- which, by the way had seemed to be hiding the other day?- but even that he could laugh at. Alfred couldn't say _love, _but he might just say _together._

When he got to the floor that Arthur resided on, Alfred bolted down the hallway, probably shaking the floors. He panted a bit in front of Arthur's door and clenched a fist to knock, but then just rolled his eyes and pushed the door open.

"Eh? Who's there?"

Alfred remembered that face. It was the teenager that had not murdered someone cold-heartedly- it was the teenager who'd merely acted in a time of his life being threatened. Peter cocked his head. He knew who this American was. It was one of the men that had been working to prosecute him. Peter remembered Arthur had kicked him out the other day.

Well, good thing Arthur was out, right?

Peter shifted the weight between his two feet, not sure what else to say. He was waiting for Alfred's response.

"Huh? Oh, uh, is Artie here?"

"He's out."

"It's late."

"He's _old._ Why are you here?"

Alfred shrugged, gesturing at the beer. He set it at the foot of the doorway. "Peace offering."

"I have to hand it to you for coming back and wanting to talk to him. He's been somewhat of a reclusive mess."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, don't tell him this, but when he was talking to Francey-Pants and you yesterday, I was still in the room, right? I sort of went sneaking."

"Where is he?"

"Late visit to the Zwingli's. I think he needed a good away from all this for a while." Peter gestured to the kitchenette. "Let's drink and I'll tell you what I know."

"You're 19…you can't drink."

"Eh, I'm European. Screw it."

* * *

Alfred listened intently as the teenager started out his talk. Peter took meagre sips of the beer every once in a while and thought about how he would approach something new. _Arthur _had bailed out Peter, something Peter could not believe Arthur could afford. The prof basically spent it like it was pocket change- he barely thought about it. Alfred felt like he knew how Arthur was feeling. When someone you want to protect and love is in danger, no price tag is too high.

Alfred gained more respect for the Brit.

"I don't think 'Kurt Landon' was ever his actual name. Think about it. Arthur, Artemis. Kurt Landon, Kirkland. I mean, it's not as spy-like as an anagram, but you can't put aside the obviousness.

"Don't tell him I went snooping, but I know his birthday matches the one that 'Artemis' had. There was a certain big bash for his 22nd in Manchester.

And, long story short, I think Mr. Kirkland hated what he did. He was young, and he loved the power and money, but I think he was suffering…mentally, that was.

There was the stress, and the emotional upturns, all that jazz.

Okay, don't tell him, but I think he had a tryst with drugs and shit, and might've even been on anti-depressants. At least, Francis somehow convinced me. The man knew him, or at least, saw him, back in Europe."

Alfred just stared.

"Are you bullshitting me?"

Peter shrugged, taking a larger gulp of his beer.

"I don't know. Artemis never died, and I'm more than willing to bet he had connections. How else could he teach at such a young age? Probably some money shuffling and non-disclosures, and bam, a college prof before 30.

You can try to pry the actual story from him, but just…don't think for once that Mr. Kirkland is less than Artemis, your 'idol'. Mr. Kirkland is a great person, and I think he's spent years fighting to bury his past. I'd say it's almost been 5 years? Four? He hates what he used to be, the power-hungry punk, maybe even manwho-e. I don't know. But you know, it shouldn't matter. Don't talk to him as the rich British lawyer. Talk to him as the weird prof that he is.

And don't worry…he likes you too."

"How'd you know I liked him."

"Well, don't you?" Even after a bit of alcohol, he could feel his inhibition turn fuzzy.

"I don't want to talk to him to worship his past. Maybe talk, yes, but before I even _knew _who he was, I still felt something.

Arthur stood there with a few feet behind Alfred, mouth a bit agape. Peter widened his eyes when he realized Arthur was standing there.

"Shit."

Alfred turned around and smiled nervously at Arthur.

"…H-hey…"

Arthur's lips tugged slightly.

"is that the good stuff from Gil's?"

* * *

Afterword:

Comment :D I love dem . _ . '' /guilty as charged.

Only a few more before da ending.

We just need Alfred sorted out. Next chapter should bring back some of the minor character + Francis 8D


	22. Chapter 22

**a/n;; BAH. What is this (x_x) one month since update /bricked. December has been hectic for me, especially with the world-ending shite haha...no. Finally done school/ my work experience placement...-insert more excuses-**

**without further ado, uber short filler chapter- I WILL TRY FOR NEXT UPDATE BY NEW YEAR'S EVE D: I think there's 3-4 chapters (short) left. **

**Daisy.**

* * *

"Sweetie!"

"Urgh,_ darling_, do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Uh, right. I'm sorry! But I've got the juiciest thing to tell you!"

"And it couldn't wait until morning, because…?"

"I'm going out drinking later with friends. I'll probably forget!"

"Out with then. I'm dead beat."

"You know Arthur Kirkland…?"

X-X-X-X-X-X

When she had conceived her twins, Amelia was sure that no troubles would arouse her family anymore. The twins' father had left them almost instantly after finding out that Amelia was pregnant.

She would never forgive herself for manipulating her oldest son.

"_Heroes are those that are smart enough to grow up powerful and strong, able to live with wealth and influence."_

_Alfred looked up at his mother. Amelia had both her hands intertwined with Alfred's and Matthew's as they walked home from the boys' day of school. The two were just about done 6__th__ grade, and after the summer they'd be off to middle school. _

_Matthew snorted. _

_Alfred, however, widened his eyes. "Well, how would a hero do that?" _

_Amelia didn't answer right away. Her mind had drifted already to the bills she had to pay._

_But years went on, and while she never let her boys know (although Matthew probably figured things out by 9__th__ grade) about the financial hardships that they were having, it seemed that being a hero meant making sure you got a job where your paycheque was impressive. Amelia had initially pushed forth engineering to Alfred, being a science-afficianado, but when high school ended, he'd found his hero._

_Amelia approved. _

_It wasn't engineering, it was law. _

_Money was money, right?_

X-X-X-X-X-X

The heels of his favourite Roots boots tapped impatiently against the carpeted floor. Even if he wasn't in the cleanest tenant building ever, Matthew had more of a mind to burn the door to get into the other side as opposed to distastefully criticizing the clashing décor. He had his leather messenger bag strapped across his chest and the noticeable thin blonde curl bounced as he foot tapped. Alfred's twin brother crossed and uncrossed his arms, rolling his eyes when he heard precise footsteps growing louder in volume.

Amelia Jones (nee Williams) gave her son a half-hearted smile. Her cropped blonde hair was pinned back as usual, and she was wearing an oversized white t-shirt with her old dancer's tank top on. She widened the door to allow her slightly passive-aggressive son in. Her head was tipped low as he refused to make eye contact with him. The mother exhaled loudly, and shut the door.

Matthew hesitated between taking a seat at the two-person dining table and just leaning on the wall with his unamused scowl on. Amelia seemed a bit wary about his suddenly cold mood, but gave him the benefit of the doubt. She knew exactly why he was here, and while she sometimes felt less toward her Matthew, she knew what knowledge he had to ruin her (and her relation with the other).

"How much did he write to you?"

"Matthew-"

"After that stupid trial is done, you need to be done."

"Sweetie-"

"FIFTY GRAND? Do you _realize how many zeroes are in fifty grand?_"

"Matthew, stop!" Amelia's eyes welled up. The soft creases in her face deepened and her birdlike body, once strong and tall, crumbled. Matthew had half a mind to just walk away and call up his brother, but it was then that he realized his mother was genuinely upset. He was used to be overshadowed by his brother, overlooked by his mother, and underappreciated by everyone. Regardless, he had to keep his morale, even if he meant his lying and conniving mother.

Matthew crouched down to meet his mother, and wrapped a long arm around her.

"You have to tell Alfred," he murmured.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Francis smiled to himself as he brushed his hair back, and tipped his head down to take in the contents of Gilbert's alcoholic concoction.

"It's not bad."

"What does it need?"

The Frenchman snapped his tongue a bit to contemplate each flavour. "There is some lovely white wine from Alsace I will import to you come January. It would bring just enough tartness into this. Exquisite."

Gilbert guffawed, "Trying to turn my awesome drink girly?"

The chef shrugged.

Gilbert set the bottle of beer down. He propped his chin on his fists and smiled cheekily at his new French companion. "So, how mad is Artie?"

After promising he would not report the French chef and accuse him of being legally insane, Gilbert had given up about 52 minutes of his awesome time to listen to Francis convince Gilbert that his drinking buddy used to be the world-renowned prosecutor that disintegrated into thin air after a case that he won 4 years ago. Arthur was rich, _beyond rich, _more intelligent than he lead on, and now a complete opposite of what he used to be. His lifestyle had morphed into the one only Gilbert really knew of.

Francis refrained from adding the fact his younger self had used to harbour a small crush on the Brit.

The blonde flipped his hair back and shrugged. "I think he will not be so mad after the American can use his own equally intelligent brain and think about l'amour."

"Eh? You really think they'll get together?"

"For some reason, no," Francis whispered, taking a swig of his drink.

"There will be something blocking it from happening."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "Well, I have Birdie. Won't be caught up in any drama-crap."

"Aren't they related?"

* * *

"That's impossible."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"Look, I really don't need to deal with this right now. I'm bus-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Call you in the morning then."

X-X-X-X-X-X-X

The wound on Arthur's small twin bed somehow. Alfred, the taller of the two had his strong arms wrapped around the younger man, his breaths heavy and quite loud. Sunshine spilled into the room- it was pretty late in the day- before Arthur started to stir. His head would be pounding in a good 3…2…

"MOTHER-" the Briton groaned, clutching his forehead. He realized he was currently in a sort of Alfred-prison- the other was definitely a heavy sleeper. Arthur sighed and wiggled his arm to poke Alfred on his waist, and just as he'd expected, a rather high shriek elicited from the American's mouth. Arthur took his chance to roll over and grab an emergency bottle of Aspirin from his bedside table. He popped two tablets in dry and turned to face the American.

"Argh, Gilbert wasn't kidding about the aftermath," Alfred mumbled, pressing his palm on his head. It _hurt._

"That's why it's my favourite. You basically don't remember shite that happened just hours ago," Arthur groaned. "Which leads me the question…

WHY THE BLOODY FU-K WERE YOU IN BED?"

"Dude, quiet. Head still in pain."

"Answer, _dude._"

"Artie, I'll probably remember in like 5 hours, but please hand over pain relievers. Now?" Alfred pleaded.

It was flash of déjà vu, but the two always found themselves in situations involving alcohol or bars.

Huh.

"You like me."

Alfred blinked and whipped his head around.

Arthur cocked his head to the side.

"Last night…Peter…"

"W-W-wait, man, sure this isn't the alcohol."

Arthur flinched. Maybe he was going a bit forward, and come to think of it, maybe he was completely off as well. His cheeks reddened.

"H-hey, man, calm down."

"I'm not imagining it, thought, aren't I?"

Alfred sucked in a heavy breath.

"Well, yeah, I like you, but –"

_Ring! Ring!_

* * *

Afterword;

so short. so so short.

- next chapter- Alfred dies of shock ): so sad.


	23. Chapter 23

**a/n;; (: teehee- I lied. I was hoping to put two updates today to make up for the updates, or lack thereof. Whoo-hoo :D **

**So yeah- did anyone figure out who the four mystery-phone-speakers were? There were two pairs, and it doesn't really matter who they are in a sense, but I did write them as two different pairings :D**

**Dandy - apologies, while it's an update, it's still rather short LOL**

* * *

Alfred gave Arthur a curious look and held out his hand.

"Wait, hold that thought."

Arthur nodded. Alfred was still important in society, and he obviously had others that needed his attention. The taller blonde patted his pockets for his cellular device and whipped it out to notice that the caller had since hung up. Arthur tried to peer over to see who had been calling the American so early in the morning (or at least it seemed early- it very well could have been about 1 pm and Arthur wouldn't have noticed). Alfred's fingers moved across his keypad as he checked who had been calling.

"Oh, huh, it was just Mat."

"Matthew?"

"Yeah. I guess I can text him-"

Arthur shook his head. "That's silly. Go call him. Take a few Aspirins while you're at it…I'll go put on a pot of coffee for you?" Truthfully, Arthur had wished the two blondes could continue their conversation because he wanted to hear Alfred go over and over again about liking him. A new constant in his life would help him move forward. Arthur had already overheard Alfred and Peter's conversation the night prior. Sure, the money hungry cocky-spirited man that Arthur used to be had been a factor into Alfred's inevitable career, but he had been missing for so long, he almost didn't matter.

Almost.

Arthur knew that if anything were to happen to them, _he _would show up, but damn, Arthur was getting lonely.

"Yeah, man, that sounds awesome. I'll go take this outside. Lord knows what Matthew wants to yell at me about this time."

Arthur offered a weak smile. His head still hurt a bit, but hangovers were beginning to become nothing to an avid drinker such as himself. He straightened his shirt and finger combed his hair, leaving the American to his own devices. The Brit stuffed his feet into a pair of slippers and sauntered over to the washroom to freshen up. He wasn't amused at all when he noticed his clock show the time (11:26), but at least he didn't have classes until later in the day.

Once had had locked the washroom door, Arthur grabbed his face cloth and soaked it with some cold water and woke up his senses. The shock of the moisture brought him back to reality. Classes at 2…Zwingli's…check up on Peter's status…call Elizabeta….slap Francis…

Yeah, there was going to be a lot to do.

After brushing his teeth a quick pace, Arthur neatly brushed his hair and headed down to the kitchen.

Alfred didn't bother looking for his jacket. He just jogged down the stairs and bolted out the door as soon as Arthur was hidden in the washroom.

The thing was, it hadn't been Matthew calling, oh no. It had been his mother, and if there was a call this early, it might've been something urgent. He redialled her number and waited patiently for someone to pickup.

"_Al?"_

Alfred crinkled his eyebrows. He knew that voice-

"Matthew? The hell are you doing on Mom's phone?"

"_It figures you'd be so defensive."_

"Well, yeah. How did you manage to visit her? She said it's like impossible or something-"

"_I'm texting you an address on my phone. Just get here in an hour. You sound partially drunk._"

"Mat? Mattie?!"

"_Alfred. Calm down. Mom's fine. There's nothing wrong with her, not right now. Maybe when you get here, ha. Just listen. We don't have much time, or rather, you don't. One hour. I'll meet you at the front." _

"Front? Front of what?" Alfred was panicking now. Why had his Mom called Matthew first instead of him? And even if she did call Matthew first, how come it was _Matthew _that ended up telling Alfred to come over. What was wrong?!

The American was sweating bullets down, walking back into Arthur's apartment. He had his eyes glued toward the phone as he waited for Matthew's text. A familiar smell of black coffee wafted into his nostrils, lifting his head. Arthur was standing beside the counter, stirring his tea with a confused look on his face.

"Is something the matter?"

_Ding!_

_-INSERT RANDOM ADDRESS HERE-_

-Manhattan, NY-

Without a word, Arthur poured Alfred a mug of coffee, scrunching his own nose at the smell. Once again, he tried peering over to see what was causing Alfred to look at his phone in disbelief. The Briton didn't directly hand the mug over, but set it sort of in front of the American from where he was leaning. Arthur took a sip of his tea and waited patiently.

"I…I have to go." Alfred stammered, not quite sure where he was headed.

"Of course, Alfred," Arthur nodded. He was sure he'd get an explanation later. Even though he was uneasy about the sudden tense atmosphere right after Alfred's semi-confession, he needed to get on with is day as well. They could reconvene later on.

Alfred nodded at the response. "Thanks for the caffeine. I think I'll need it," he chuckled half-heartedly.

Arthur stepped aside and looked at Alfred. "is it work…?" Part of him wasn't sitting comfortably if Alfred was getting in the deep water again for Peter's stalling innocence.

"Naw, it's…unexpected shit, y'know?"

The two blinked at each other before Arthur nervously set his small hand on Alfred's broad shoulder and kneaded it gently. "W-w-well, we'll talk later? We aren't done…"

The taller of two laughed. "'Course."

And with that, Alfred found himself leaning in and pressing a soft kiss on the Brit's cheeks.

X-X-X-X-X

Once Matthew had stormed out, Amelia had locked all her doors, and unconsciously began throwing in clothes and cash into her overnight bag. Her son might've been capable of doing many things, including admitting to Alfred about her fake life, but he wasn't heartless. He knew what would ultimately break his mother, and this was it. Regardless, she had to get away from this right now. Seeing her youngest son that early in the morning had definitely left something to be worried about.

Somewhere in between the stress and dosage, Amelia found herself collapsed, dropping a pinch of powder onto the ground.

* * *

Matthew stood on the corner of the street sipping his cold Tim Hortons* (which didn't exactly do the Canadian version justice) as he watched the second hand of his watch tick. If he knew his older brother, Alfred would arrive any time now.

The violet-eyed twin repeated to himself that he wasn't victimizing his mother for how she raised the two boys, but was just being honest to his brother. Alfred had a heart, and if Amelia just admitted everything that Alfred's occasional obliviousness didn't see (and what Matthew did see), odds were their relations wouldn't be tarnished, if any at all. He was tired of being the one to know two sides of a story, and knowing completely which was true. He couldn't believe he was thinking this, but his mother just needed to _grow up_.

Yes, she'd been a teen mother. Her freedom had been stripped from her so the two twins could grow up, but things couldn't drag on longer than they had to.

There was also that occasional drug issue that needed to be erased…

Yellow cabs whizzed by to and fro, until one slightly dented on pulled over on the corner.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Arthur smiled to himself as he pressed the back of his hand upon his cheek. After Alfred had fled and hailed a cab, the professor had gone about finishing his tea and checking up on Peter, who ended up with a worst hangover than Alfred. The teenager had been out cold on the sofa the entire time Alfred had been there, and was now trying to sleep off the remaining headache. Arthur scribbled a note for the boy to call Elizabeta while he headed off to work. It would nice again when Peter would be able to attend school again. Of course, the days were few as what remained in the year since Christmas was so close. He would probably start back in January.

He opened up his leather briefcase and shovelled freshly marked essays and his computer, tossing in a random pen and his coin purse. It was only going to be one class today, and he was planning on just assigning a pseudo-free block. Arthur wasn't really feeling in the mood to actually teach, what with a lingering migraine and the uppity feeling of seeing his almost-lover (was it too fast to call him that?). Arthur unhooked his trench coat from its proper place when the home phone rang.

Peter groaned from under his covers, causing Arthur chuckle.

"Just sleep, lad," Arthur assured, picking up the receiver. "Arthur Kirkland, speaking?"

"_Oh, Mr. Art-Kirkland, good afternoon. It's the Dean."_

Arthur knew that his boss couldn't see, but he lifted an eyebrow. "Yes, hello, Sir. I can tell it's you, by the way. What's the matter? I have class in 1 hour. I am not late-"

"_No, no, it's not that. Do you still wish to attend class? What with the news-"_

"What? Sir, you're not making any sense." Arthur's body froze. What news?!

_"Well, I certainly didn't anticipate your response. Surely a gentleman such as yourself has been up since the crack of dawn. Have you not read all the allegations-"_

"Sir, with all due respect, the issue with the pupil Peter Oxenstierna is practically old news," the Brit laughed mirthlessly.

A pregnant pause passed by.

"_I mean with the Artemis allegations. Reporters are swarming the campus."_

The phone slipped from Arthur's hands before he could respond. Peter heard a heavy smash against the floor and bolted up.

"Mr. Kirkland! What happened?"

* * *

Afterword;

): uh-oh...

Sheet's about to unravel, but don't worry, nothing that'll take another 5 chapters to explain.

*last time I went NY, there was Tim Horton's near Times Square / Broadway - Around Madame Tussaud's, I think. I'm completely biased thought - I haven't a clue if it's a carbon copy of what we have in Canada, but from what I notice, franchise items often taste a tad different in different countries D:


	24. Chapter 24

**a/n;; rushed chapter where it seems a lot of stuff happens, but it really doesn't! thanks for the support! enjoy!**

**Dandy**

**ps: This is set up so each character's appearance is pretty damn short. I was listening to a sad instrumental of "Chasing Cars", and so yeah...It's like a quick scene of how each character, specifically Al and Arthur is doing. Not the best written, I'll admit, but yeah. **

* * *

The original posting on a small journalism website had been taken down much to Arthur's dismay.

However, it was clear to him what had been leaked.

After properly hanging up on his phone, Arthur folded the top half of his laptop, undid his tie and sulked back to the kitchenette. Peter had overheard bits of Arthur's conversation, and put together that what he had hid for years had finally been revealed. In no world was K.L. Artemis a former A-list celebrity, or a socialite that'd gone off the rails, but the fact that there had never truly been a 'K.L Artemis', and that it had been a completely different person shook the judicial community. Peter kicked off his blanket and tiptoed into his backpack which had been neglected for a while.

The boy took out his ancient laptop and breathed heavily to himself.

"Let's see how much Mr. K's going to drink tonight," he muttered.

X-X-X-X-X

"Dude, you just won't believe how bad of a time this is," Alfred grumbled as he paid the taxi driver, turning to his brother every once in a while to glare at him. "Like, you could have texted me."

"No, I couldn't have you ignoramus," Matthew sneered. He wasn't exactly haven't the best morning either. "Hurry up."

"Shuddap," Alfred snapped, counting the twenties. He handed them over and got out of the car to and gestured at his brother. "Well? My geology skills are pretty bad but I think I'm still in New York. Mom's in Virginia."

"Just walk with me." Matthew didn't even bother to correct Alfred's use of 'geology'.

"Dude, if you called me in urgency while I was at Art-"

"Alfred! Shut up! I don't need to hear about you two sleeping together or whatever." Matthew groaned. He quickened his pace in front of his brother and stopped in front of an older looking tenant building. It reminded Alfred vaguely of Arthur's.

"Where are we going…?"

"Come on."

Matthew seemed to know what he was doing, jamming the key into the hole and entering into the small lobby. He pocketed the key back into his bag and just allowed his feel to lead the way. His brother was astounded that he seemed to know exactly which direction to turn, and how many doors to pass before the two brothers stopped at one. Matthew gave Alfred a look that bordered on apology and shoved the door open.

Whoever rented this apartment appeared to prefer the minimalist attitude. Just enough chairs and tables littered the room, with a small futon in the centre. Alfred stayed close behind his brother as Matthew walked around. Occasionally, Alfred picked up random papers to get an idea as to why Matthew had asked him to come here when he'd specifically said that they would be visiting their ill mother. He set down a stack of ads when he saw his brother collapse onto his knees.

"Oh my God." Matthew's voice dipped into a low monotone. He repeated his words over and over again in whispers.

"Matthew!"

Alfred shoved aside a chair to get down where his brother kneeled. In his twin's arms was their mother.

"Mom!" Alfred exclaimed, grabbing the woman by her shoulders. He shook gently, reminded of her age, and when there was no response, he sent daggers at his younger brother. "What the hell, Matt? Where are we?! Why is she here?!"

"This is where she lives," Matthew said. He suddenly reverted back to his quieter self. Alfred was sure freaking out-

"Oh God! What the hell! Is she asleep, under some meds-"

Matthew leaned over and pressed some white powder that was scattered on the floor. "This. "

"Don't tell me that's what I think it is."

_Oh God, what is this? Why is she here?! Like this?! Why does Mattie seem to know everything?_

"Well, it's not baking flour." Matthew mumbled, dusting it off his hands. "This, Alfred, is what your thousands have supplied her. You're all pent up about being her hero, a _hero _in general, you overlook everything else sometimes. She could never tell you, but you were so blind not to notice…."

Alfred carried his mother bridal-style and got up, glaring at his twin. "I'm taking her to hospital. We're not done talking. I haven't a fu-king clue what the hell you mean by that!" With that, Alfred kicked the door past with all his might, leaving Matthew to pick up his mother's identification and papers.

* * *

Doctors wheeled the unconscious 40-year old into the emergency room, leaving her distressed son pacing back and forth. Alfred replayed Matthew's words over and over again, but refused to believe anything until the other arrived.

Nurses coaxed the anxious young adult to sit in the public waiting room, and fetched him a cup of coffee. He was partially in hysterics, and his hand instantly snatched the phone in his pocket. There was only one person he could talk to at the moment while Matthew took his sweet and precious time. Lord knew why the other twin was taking so long- was he freaking walking? Regardless, Alfred took a large gulp of his lukewarm coffee and punched in Arthur's number. If he was in any luck, his class would have been over with.

The stale dial tone went on and on, but to no avail did Arthur pick up.

It wasn't exactly abnormal for the Briton to have not picked up, but now that left Alfred alone and somewhat crumbly for at least another half hour.

He hoped he could pull through.

X-X-X-X-X

Francis and Gilbert knocked twice on Arthur's door, giving each other weird glances when the 'gentleman' never answered. The bartender actually knew about Arthur's faulty door, but he didn't know if his French companion did. With that, Gilbert leaned on and knocked even louder.

"ARTHURRRRR! GET OFF YOUR OLD AS- AND OPEN THIS DOOR!" Gilbert hollered.

When the door did swing open, the two drinking buddies were met with a face that somewhat resembled Arthur's but was clearly not. Peter rubbed his eyes and gave the two adults a look.

"Arthur's out. You want to leave a message?"

"How is he?" Francis asked hurriedly. Peter cocked his head.

"Did you blurt?" Peter accused, glaring at the chef.

"Me?! No!"

"Well, it got leaked out. You know that."

The two exchanged glances. They knew all right.

Peter shrugged. "I have stuff to do. Mr. Kirkland is…well, in a short one, freaked. He's gotten voicemails from _everyone. _I think he's got former colleagues, friends, and even maybe lovers trying to reach him. How they got his number, I don't know."

Gilbert's face scrunched as if feeling the stress Arthur was feeling. When the contortion relaxed, he rested his hand on Peter's shoulder. "SO, where's the old man?"

Even though he knew, Peter felt it owed to his current care-taker to not say and shrugged.

X-X-X-X-X

_"Artie, where are you? Call me back, kay?"_

* * *

_"Where's my favourite prof? Arthur, I'm dying here?"_

* * *

_"Monster-Brows, babe, where are you? Seriously, I'm getting freaked out."_

* * *

_"Babe? Babe? It's Alfred!"_

X-X-X-X-X

Arthur pressed a chaste kiss on the crown of the toddler he was cradling as the child slowly fell into slumber. Both Zwingli siblings had departed the building to pick up dinner for their guest, leaving Arthur alone surrounded by sleeping orphans. Having been caught up in other things as of late, the Briton hadn't spent much honest time with the ones that had helped him try to forget.

They were his safe haven, and as much as others could say he helped them, they helped him the most.

Slowly, Arthur settled the child onto a free bed and shut the lights.

It was inevitable that anyone that cared knew where the lost Brit had gone. It wouldn't be long before that carefully built castle was unlocked and those that got to him would sure as hell demand answers.

"What would I say? I have potential mental instability? I took drugs half the time? I've resorted to living off ¼ of my previous income? I HATED that life?" Arthur mumbled, closing the door behind him. Then there were those that he had met in New York. If he compared the good to the bad, Arthur could easily deduce he'd effed up so much, even if on the surface he was just _good _at what he did.

X-X-X-X-X

It was almost midnight when Matthew decided to depart the hospital room. He had already spent so much of his day confessing what should have been said so long again. He needed to reconvene with his personal life and current events.

And Alfred needed to be with their mother, anyway.

Matthew hesitated, but wrapped his arms around his brother. "Sorry, Al."

His twin just blinked, but the two knew there was no tension between the two.

"Don't stay up too late." Matthew cautioned.

"We don't know if she'll wake up…" Alfred whispered. "I just need-" the rest of the words were mangled up as Alfred tried to speed them out.

"Al?"

The grown man dropped to his knees. "I thought when she needed me, I was doing all I can. I didn't do shit. I just need her now."

"Al, you didn't kn-"

"That's just it! How is it I make more than you and yet you know SO MUCH? How is that possible?!" It was clear now, Alfred was feeling angry, but not exactly at his brother. Matthew froze, but held his own.

"You should sleep. The nurse will watch over." Giving one last glance at his brother, Matthew walked out.

X-X-X-X-X-

"Hey, you've got a crap ton of messages," Peter murmured, lifting his head from his book. Arthur dropped his bag without taking off his jacket. The Briton's face looked scared, but he nodded.

"Thank you."

* * *

"Mom…you could never be truthful with me, huh?" Alfred murmured. "I'm not mad at you, I could never be. I'm just…You were one of my heroes, a hero of a mom, and you said I was your hero all through college, and as I got my first job. You fed me lies to keep me happy, and you benefited from that illusion of me being strong. I…now…heroes don't fail." The blond rested his head on his mother's belly, a flashback of how things were when he was young and wild. "And in the end…we both did."**

X-X-X-X-X

"_You've reached Alfred F. Jones, hero in training! For business issues, please contact my office number at - - - - -! For personal messages, please wait for the cool tone thingy! I'll get back to you ASAP!" _

Arthur's hands tightened around the phone. He spoke with confidence at his message, partially glad it was late enough that wherever Alfred was, he wasn't able to pick up the phone. Arthur knew it would hurt them both it there was an actual conversation. As he finished off his long monologue, he felt a gust of wind hit his cheek, his eyes threatening to give way.

"….And the fact is that part of me should have been gone, I thought I left. I dropped everything walked out that **exit.**This, here, you, everything should have just been the blank pages after walking through that new **entrance **when I'd landed in New York.

I guess those blank pages were just setting me up for another one. Another **exit **that is. Call me back when you get this. Artemis, Arthur, whatever."

X-X-X-X-X

"Did you find him?" Matthew whispered into his phone.

On the other line, Gilbert shook his head. "No…He's shaken up. I can't-"

"They're both out of it, and the sad part is, they need each other right now." Matthew intercepted, exhaling deeply.

* * *

Afterword;;

now if that wasn't overly-dramatic, try playing "Chasing Cars" instrumental :D jokes.

but yeah, hope that wasn't too sad D: we're almost done this fic! Thanks for sticking around!

** - On one part, you can imagine that hero-aspect, I hope, between Alfred and his mother. Growing up, you probably do idolize your parents, and you might get hopes of being someone worth being idolized when you get older.

Alfred earlier on mentioned who he also idolized (and I can't remember / fail/ if I stated Alfred mentioned 'Artemis' being a hero-I think I did-who he also idolized. If you can squint, you can see the similarity between the two. Both got to the 'top' but were sent finally to realize just how much they hate what they've done. I guess in Alfred's case he REALLY didn't know, but he's beating himself down because his brother knew. Just wanted to sort of clear it out.

I can easily see this up for argument LOL, but it would nice if you at least sort of see this perspective. If you think it's a juvenile thought, or cheesy, I apologize XD but this is how it's going.

Thanks!


	25. Chapter 25

**a/n;; Happy New Year, guys :) Aren't we all excited to get back to school? (: Without further ado, the second last 'chapter' (or 3rd if I include an epilogue) The worst is over, I think :S **

**Dandy- (LOL If any of you were sharp enough, I think I wrote 'Daisy' for one of my previous updates. Fail)**

**ps- **

* * *

Alfred's head suddenly felt double its weight, his neck tilting to accommodate the sudden increase. The air was being cleansed again for health measures as nurses hovered around now empty bed. Alfred's nose wrinkled as he inhaled the bleach smell, but off somewhere it dulled and eventually all he could see was the realization of a new day. He had his glasses off- they were causing a small migraine for him after prolonged wearing, and he hadn't changed out of his clothes in two days. As soon as the morning passed for the American, he would probably be headed back in low spirits to his and his brother's apartment. There were things that needed fixing and things that needed to be accepted.

Matthew's footsteps grew in volume as he approached his sullen brother. They had both heard Arthur's vague message the morning after the Brit had left it. Of course, Matthew was able to tell almost immediately that Alfred felt another anvil drop onto his already frail body (figuratively speaking, of course). It wasn't as if the two brothers never shared sentimental moments, but Alfred was known to be as strong as he could for the sake of others. It was long cry worth waiting. It was a cry, so silent and painful, but a long time coming. Alfred had practically squeezed his phone until his hand plumed in redness and the phone was at its verge of breaking. Had Alfred not been coaxed by his brother, or Gilbert, to release the device, the iPhone would have been in smithereens.

And so Alfred remained at the hospital for another night, even though his mother had requested, and already left, to be flown to another institution. He had been there to see his mother off as Amelia and her elder son exchanged silent nothings. This time things were serious. He wasn't about to write letters back and forth, no. Alfred would follow his younger brother, and be there and know everything, or at least what was obvious. He would no longer tell himself delusions. He didn't need to be that powerful and wealthy 'hero' he thought he was. He just needed to be there for his mom now.

He felt like he had fallen, and with it he dragged that heroic delusion. But surprisingly, Francis had been the one to turn his cheeks.

_"You feel like you've fallen because you never saw things, and let it get this far?" _

_Alfred nodded at the Frenchman. "And no one could tell me…they didn't think I could handle it…"_

_"For our sakes, a hero doesn't go away from one incident. By ignoring everyone and everything else, and moving on without a glance back, you can never be a hero again." _

_"Mom's leaving…and I'll visit her and shit…"_

_"It's not ton mere I'm worried about." _

Alfred wasn't dense it meant something. He knew that Francis and Gilbert were upset their friend had suddenly disappeared into thin air- as if they'd been his colleagues years ago back in London. Gilbert probably felt somewhat dejected because Arthur was probably the closest to him. That was just it. He knew him too well, and the easiest thing wasn't to talk to him one on one, it was to pick up your shit and leave.

"You literally stayed overnight at the hospital even though Mom had left already." Matthew's soft voice stated.

"I'm going to go home now, actually."

"You know things happen..."

Alfred smiled mirthlessly. "They do, don't they?"

"He didn't go back to London, if you're wondering."

"Why would he?" Alfred scoffed. "He probably flew to next super-city with a large population. I bet you it was Shanghai! Maybe New Delhi-"

"Stop pretending you're okay. You're _not _okay with Mom, and you're _not _okay with Arthur just leaving you. You feel betrayed, but he feels like his world his blew up." Matthew rambled.

"Well fuck that, _we're _gone. Two problems in one day, isn't that awesome." Alfred snapped. "I mean, _fuck, _I never knew it meant so much to him, that secret and all. Was this like some therapy or rehab for him? Do I not matter?! I mean, yeah, Mom is important, but we already talked and shit. I can…move on…but I don't even know where the limey went! I can't just pretend the past week wasn't hap-"

"He never actually said he was leaving in his message." Matthew whispered. "I figured someone with a law degree such as yourself would have realized that."

X-X-X-X-X

Sitting cross-legged with his oversized hooded-sweater on, Peter's eyes ran fluidly across the page.

The teenager flipped the page back and noticed it was signed by a high official and then set the letter down.

He was officially proved innocent, and the case was practically labelled invalid.

It wouldn't be long before local newspapers would print out the story, and if you had asked him a while ago, Peter would have been elated. He wouldn't need to be a burden to his teacher any longer, and he would be eligible to attend classes again.

Most importantly, it meant that there would be nothing to bring tragic tears to his parents.

Christmas was quickly approaching, and it was a constant reminder that he would not be in Europe spending the rest of the month with those who loved him the most.

A knock woke the student from his short thought.

Mr. Kirkland had been gone for about 2 days now, and the student had literally no idea where he would have gone to. He hadn't packed anything to signal that he would be staying overnight anywhere. It was as if he'd walked out the door and …._disappeared._

That being said, before anything drastic had happened, Arthur had set out a Costco-size pack of kitty food for Britannia, and told Peter to stay as long as necessary. Peter hadn't expected the man to be leave the flat for more than a few hours, but whatever Arthur was out doing, it was probably necessary.

"Hello? Anyone home?" a sweet voice, familiar, but muffled from the door, called.

Peter dropped the letter on the coffee table and went to answer the door. As he swung the flawed door open, he was met with Lilli Zwingli's endearing and angelic face.

"O-Oh! Peter, hello."

The male's mouth went agape as he realized Lilli was standing there. He scratched his neck. "U-UH, hey Lilli…"

"I take it you're not longer under house arrest?"

"I mean, I never w-w-was, technically, just like, formality…" Peter stammered.

"That's good. We have to get going, then."

X-X-X-X-X-X

Most would have assumed that Arthur Kirkland would have stayed hidden after the release of his life…

But he chose not to.

In fact, after departing his flat in Queens, with a little more than $30 in cash with him and an umbrella for safe measures, he'd taken the Metro down to Manhattan.

And stayed there.

In that time, he'd quit his professor job, gotten drunk one night, ignored his blasted cellular and remembered what it felt like to not care. Financially, he was stable, but it wasn't the money thing. Manhattan's air often reminded him of life in London, and the prospect of being around in such a big city, he realized that it didn't matter who he used to be. Those that care had fared well without him. There was hope.

Had he let Alfred down by not being there? Arthur surely thought so, and ultimately left that vague message for him. He was sure that Alfred had called back, but part of him really was scared. He couldn't take being called a coward…He just wanted to let him know that things were going to change.

How?

Arthur wasn't sure.

"_This _is where you're hiding?"

He turned around from his seat on the park bench, his head jogging to place the voice with the appropriate face in his head. Sure enough, he hadn't been wrong.

"Who said I was hiding?"

"Everyone."

"By that you mean those who are looking for me."

The not-stranger took a seat beside the Briton and sighed. "You're not hiding, but you're avoiding everyone."

Arthur turned to face Matthew nursing a hot beverage. He seemed rather content, not at all pissed off. The last time Arthur had heard anything, Alfred had pretty much gone into a short seclusion after his mother had left.

And there was that whole _Arthur-Atemis _fiasco. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed.

"What would you like, Matthew?"

"Is there any reason in particular you came down here?"

"No." Arthur responded almost too hastily.

"Oh."

"Mhmm."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "I kept this large secret from Al for too long."

_I don't need you to go on-_

_"_Your point, Matthew?"

"He may be a jolly happy soul, with too much energy and shit, but he's not a hard one to read. I'm sure you notice."

"Quite."

"He thought Ma was the only one that loved him, and I just...I went along with him. To make him happy." Matthew set his coffee down and began moving his hands as if to help Arthur get to a quick idea as to where he was going. He knew that Arthur already knew where he was going, though.

"I do like him, mind you." Arthur sniffed, crossing his arms.

"He's back home."

"Right, well, that's where I should be."

"He thinks you're in London, or like worse, like St. Petersburg or something."

Arthur was about to ask how in blazes it was worse, but just groaned. His head lolled back. "I can't say I wasn't thinking it." When he looked up at the dreary winter sky, he added, "But I don't want to. I'm getting emails, calls, messages forwarded by the Dean. My brothers from hell somehow reached me. I just, needed to get out of the bloody flat."

Matthew grabbed Arthur's hand. "You two...may not _love _each other. Not yet, I respect that."

Arthur pulled back his hand. "What the hell are you trying to do Matthew. I respect you enough, and while you are completely out of Gilbert's league, I respect your choice, but you cannot tell me, FORCE me, to go anywhere."

"I like you. I think you'd be a good change in Alfred's life. He needs a stable constant, and needs to get over his insecurity about being loved. I KNOW the way he feels when Gilbert's over. Do him the favour, and go. You'd finally make him feel, oh, God, I can't believe I'm saying this, like a _hero, _if you just let him back in so he can be there for you. And I won't apply the word to you, but you've crashed and moved on once. Be his _aid_ at the same time."

* * *

Afterword;

o_o bahh.


	26. Chapter 26

***WARNING: FLUFF-ENDINGish***

**a/n;; and through all that up and down :S we gets to the ending...y'all deserve the fluff. / I might add an epilogue &/or more of Arthur's back story. Stay tuned.**

**Dandy xxx**

* * *

Matthew handed Arthur their house key, and gave him a stern, but encouraging face.

"If he's unconscious, just go for a run to McDonald's."

The wannabe Canadian gave Arthur a nod, and left to walk off the other direction. He had plans with a certain 'Prussian' elsewhere. Arthur spun the keys in his hand and almost considered knocking out of courtesy. He had brushed his self worries away for now.

The moment Arthur turned the key into it's appropriate hole, a long lost voice croaked out Matthew's name.

"Matthew, where have you been?" Alfred said in a low voice. The young adult had his head focused on his laptop screen and from what Arthur could tell, it seemed like Alfred had been playing one of those one-person shooter games Arthur almost banned Peter from participating in. (Speaking of which, Arthur sure hoped Peter was alright...) Arthur turned his attention to Alfred. His back was turned, and he had been sitting on the floor, eyes not focused on Arthur. If someone were to walk into the penthouse, it would not seem like Alfred had been a bit out of it the past few days. However, Arthur knew better.

Alfred hadn't bothered with changing out of his dress shirt, or so it looked, and his body flinched every few seconds as if he was lacking proper sleep. For the most part, the apartment was in order and tidy, but there were a couple of beer cans scattered around the room. Alfred wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and coughed.

"Mattie? Bro-" Alfred said in a worried tone. He turned his body with his bottom and nearly fainted when he saw Arthur rather than his quiet brother. "Art-"

The name sounded so foreign on Alfred's lips. All those unresponsive calls. That period where it seemed the American was nothing but a dream... Arthur set the keys down and his breathing hitched.

"Hello."

...

Alfred paused his computer and set the laptop down. Arthur lifted a finger and his mouth opened to say something, but his face was met with the surprisingly clean scent of Alfred's (probably) expensive button down. Alfred's strong arms wrapped tightly around Arthur's smaller body. Arthur gasped, but his bones relaxed because as scared as he was walking into the penthouse, he felt safe.

"You'renotinLondon." Alfred mumbled, his nose buried in the crook of Arthur's shoulder.

"I never said I was, love," Arthur whispered. "I just needed to be sure of things..." He smiled half-heartedly as he pushed Alfred off him. The man who dedicated his time to the field of law, just as Arthur once did, frowned like a child. He reached up and ruffled Alfred's hair. "Head's heavy...heart heavy...just want to fall...?"

Green eyes that seemed to hold so much knowledge and years of experience nearly drowned Alfred's eyes, the bright and youthful irises the colour of American summers in Indiana.

Alfred nodded.

"I have to say you have a good brother with you." Arthur murmured. He took a seat on the sofa, just hovering over Alfred's laptop. "Don't go t'ward everything you don't believe in. It might give you the satisfaction, but in the end, you're never satisfied...

And running away to start over just doesn't cut it. I'm the prime example."

Alfred shook his head. "I don't _want _to run away. I can't say I haven't thought about it, but I'm not going to. I have people that need me, and I need them." He whispered and looked hopefully at Arthur. The American climbed onto the sofa and re-wrapped his arms around Arthur, pulling him close. "And it's funny, y'know...You, _you _kind of know how I feel."

Arthur nodded. "I have always cared about myself. I liked being in power, I liked the money, I loved the attention. And I ignored those protests of those fuc-ing stupid voices in my head. I was the ruler of the sea, _my _sea, so I drowned those pleas of protest." The Briton rests his head on Alfred's shoulder. "I had to be reincarnated, I needed a new place. You've heard the story, but whoever is running after you, they catch up."

"I needed that. Thank you."

Alfred knew he had Arthur. He could feel it. No matter how much the Brit would pull away when things got too much for his liking, he was there, heart and soul.

"Pleasure."

The two stayed almost silent for the remainder of the day. Alfred never finished his shooting escapade, Arthur didn't request tea (or alcohol, mind you), and Matthew didn't return when it got dark.

The sun set over Manhattan, and with it being the winter, it got dark relatively early.

Every now and then, murmurs of sweet nothings were exchanged. Alfred asked him how he was going to go back to work, but Arthur often responded with a wave of dismissal.

"I just need to think good things tonight."

"Is Peter house sitting for you?"

Arthur chuckled. "If all goes accordingly, he's with Lilli..." He didn't continue, but if things really went well, Peter was at JFK seeing his parents at Arrivals. An early Christmas present from the English prof.

"Are you staying the night?"

Arthur looked up Alfred. His eyes were a mix of downcast and pleading. There was no guarantee that Matthew would return for the night, and most likely Arthur wasn't going to head back to Queens at the hour. Would it be melancholy, or awkward to stay over? Arthur didn't even have a change of clothes with him, and-

"Hey, hey," Alfred smiled, tilting the older man's chin up. "Don't, like, don't stress over it, dude. Yes or no. I'm not forcing anything...We promised to take things slow...right?"

They were still a 'we'. Arthur felt a ton of bricks lifted.

Alfred had stayed over, usually in intoxicated states, over at Arthur's a number of times. That was when things were purely on the surface between the two. Things had changed...

Arthur wanted to say 'no', merely out of fear, but his body betrayed him, and he nodded. If he wasn't dreaming, he could have sworn Alfred's cheeks reddened in colour.

"Oh-oh! Cool."

Alfred offered dinner, and Arthur offered to help. There was a small fickle between the two, but eventually, they were both content with Chinese takeout. A light conversation over noodles or rice, with a small peck or two, both Alfred and Arthur soon let the stress-inducing problems just hide under the carpet. At least for the rest of the night.

"How do things change now?"

Arthur looked up from his deep-fried cuttlefish. "Mm?"

"I never got to ask cuz I was so damn ecstatic-good enough word for you? ("Never.")- that I never asked. I was going t-to, before y-y'know."

"Why do things need to change?" Arthur asked, setting his fork down.

Alfred gave a toothy grin. "I feel like they will, whether we want to or not." He washed his rice down with Coca-Cola. "I know to be scared, and I'll be worried about shi- like this again. I want everyone I love _safe, _and _here._"

"I promise you that I'll do everything in my ability to do that."

The younger male captured Arthur's lips in a full kiss. Arthur was caught off guard, because up until now, they'd been relatively careful with too much intimacy. It seemed bother were afraid of moving things too quickly.

"I want to be your hero."

Arthur caught his breath. God, when did he revert back to that hormone-crazed teenager?

"And you've always been my idol, even if I didn't know, and I've wanted to follow you, be like you...You-you're just so goddamn good at it. Every hour, I just remember why I wanted to be like you. Screw aliases."

X-X-X-X-X

Matthew's mouth pressed forward, meeting halfway with his significant other's.

Francis grinned beside then, taking a sip of wine.

"I don't know how you two work, but you do."

Gilbert chuckled. "You never know." He pinched Matthew's cheek, then looked down. "I get it that Grammar Prof, and Fatass American are back together?"

X-X-X-X-X-X

It was a known fact that Alfred could be loud. He could be exuberant, rambunctious, hold a hero-complex, everything.

But he was still an intelligent, a scholar in some ways.

He could be quiet, though. Even if he wanted to narrate his feelings aloud.

Alfred smiled as he ran the tip of his long fingers down Arthur's milky-white arm. The latter had fallen asleep in Alfred's arms, and even if the day began horribly tomorrow, he had this moment to look back and say it was fine. Alfred loosened himself from the tangles of Arthur's arms and got up- screw modesty-to fetch another blanket.

Arthur was peaceful in his sleep, Alfred noted, as he brought up another duvet. That must have meant Alfred did _something _right.

X-X-X-X-X-X

Alfred marched into his kitchen to notice his phone blaring the ringtone that designated his boss was calling.

"'Sup, boss? Alfred here! I do recall mentioning I'm on a month vacation, even with your protests-"

"_Good morning, Jones. No, continue your so-called vacation. I actually called because I have word that you're acquainted with K.L- Oh well, I s'pose his name is Arthur, Arthur Kurtland, or something?"_

"What?"

_"Simple question, enough, son. Do you know the whereabouts of Mr. Kurtland?"_

_"_Kirkland," Alfred corrected breezily.

_"Apologies. Is that a yes?"_

Alfred contemplated his answer, until he saw a fatigued Arthur walk in, his pants pulled on haphazardly, and wearing _Alfred's _shirt. The Brit must have been so out of it, he hadn't realized.

_Who are you talking to? _Arthur mouthed.

"I'm sorry, boss. Last time I heard, he's flown to Stockholm. Why?"

_"Damn. Well, I had a long discussion with the board here. We could definitely use another one just like him. He quit his meagre job at the college, did you hear? We were just with out accountants to see if we could offer top pay to someone. I still can't believe his story!"_

Alfred gave Arthur a reassured smile. He set his phone on speaker.

"I don't think he'd want it. I'll see you in a few weeks, boss."

"Thank you," Arthur smiled.

X-X-X-X-X

Arthur never went to Stockholm.

Peter, however, (flew back on Arthur's credit card) for the holidays and New Year.

As Alfred painted on that bright façade again and whisked back off to work, Arthur slowly transitioned from living primarily at his apartment in Queens, and room with Alfred, instead. He was able to survive on his secretly large bank account, and he often house sitted when Matthew and Alfred were at work, or if Matthew was out of the city speculating property (there were jokes between them that it was GILBERT who was looking for a new place). Britannia was watched carefully at Alfred's penthouse, because Arthur knew how much the cat LOVED him.

Arthur visited Lilli and Vash whenever he could, because the children reminded him of the person he could never be- selfish, greedy, lonely. It was they who had been able to create the foundation of Arthur's new life, and Arthur could never forget that.

Francis stayed for a bit longer in America, his cousins and newfound friends keeping him on his heels. He was due to fly out soon for a New Years banquet in Bangkok. He fan-girled a bit over Alfred and Arthur, as much as he could without Arthur knocking out. That young sous-chef that had been mesmerized with Arthur all those years ago flattened to admiration, and nothing past. He had a pretty blonde agent waiting for him back in Paris, anyway. Who knows...

Both Alfred and Arthur never knew when they went from liking, to understanding and gradually _loving _each other. But it didn't matter, because by then, they were past love.

They were one.

* * *

Alfred leaned on the balcony of his penthouse gripping onto a can of beer. Arthur walked out with a teacup.

Underneath them, the Big Apple was ablaze of spectators awaiting for the ball to drop. Confetti and blue hats littered the area. Arthur had the TV blaring, Ryan Seacrest's voice echoing.

"It's a new year, almost. You know what they say, new beginnings and all that shit."

"Sure, sure," Arthur mused.

Alfred looked at Arthur, watching the profile of his boyfriend as his green eyes focused on the concrete jungle of Manhattan.

This is it, Alfred repeated.

_I am NOT going to stutter._

"What is it?" Arthur chuckled. "I haven't gotten cream on my face or something? You've been staring intently on my cheek when you should be aware of how much your country plays up the passing of a New Year."

Alfred forced a smile. "You love it, c'mon."

"I never used to care, really. It's like a new day."

_This is it-_

"By the way, I've been meaning to tell you..." Arthur set his tea cup down. He blinked at Alfred's flushed face. "Oh, bollocks, were you about to say something?"

"No-no!" Alfred lied, laughing. "Go on! What'd you want to tell me."

"I think I've gotten a job..."

This stunned Alfred. "A- a what? Look, Artie, don't worry. Don't feel like obliged and shit to work cuz you feel like some burden or some shi-!"

Arthur gave Alfred an un-amused scowl. "It's not that, wanker."

Alfred chuckled. "Go on, British drunk!"

Arthur almost wanted not to, and just leave Alfred hanging. "Elizabeta- I've been speaking to her lately-found this post for law studies...It's teaching, which I love, but also _law, _which I used to love. Or so I thought...

It's like a I miss it almost."

He gave a look at Alfred. "What do you think?"

"Here? In Manha?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Shortening things don't always make it sound 'cool', Alfred. But yes, at a private academy."

"I tried! And...and that's cool. You going to try it?" Alfred asked. Arthur nodded.

"I'll need some brushing up, and a credential to teach it, but I think I can muster that up. I'm ousted in your city."

"Yeah, and THANKS FOR BRINGING MY LUNCH THAT OTHER DAY. MY BOSS NEARLY POPPED A VESSEL. If I weren't so awesome, I'd be fired!" Arthur laughed softly, running his hands through Alfred's hair.

"Apologies, poppet."

The two nodded and looked back at the city. It was almost midnight.

"Wait."

Arthur blinked. "Hm?"

"I did have something to ask."

"Yes?"

Alfred nodded, face heating up. He patted his pockets for the thing, and nearly swore when he thought he'd forgotten it.

_Shoooot, time's running out! _

Finally his eyes widened when he pulled it out from his pockets. Arthur's eye crinkled.

"Wh-what is that?"

Alfred licked his lips. "I talked to Mattie, and he thinks it should be you. I just, I need someone, and it's got to be you. My mom is important, so of course I asked her first...Please, Arthur. Please say yes.

I...

I love you, Arthur Kirkland."

Arthur nearly dropped his tea cup, and he would have felt completely apologetic to the poor soul who might've been knocked out by the porcelain. "Al-"

"Please...for the New Year...come with me to visit my mom. I need to know how she's doing...and I need someone to hold me up, keep me from breaking down." Alfred held up the plane tickets.

The fact that Alfred had opted to choose him over Matthew made his heart swell. It meant Alfred truly trusted, truly cared.

"I love you, too, Alfred F. Jones."

_3...2..._

Arthur smiled and pressed his lips onto Alfred's.

* * *

Afterword;

If anyone can place how I used the canon!verse in this AU, props.

& if that wasn't overlycliche and fluffy, I don't know what is XD jokes.

I didn't touch base/ fully close some of the small characters, but I might in the FINAL epilogue (if there is one)

but yeah 3 TYSM readers :'D

For future ref;; I probably will be looking back and fixing shiz cuz, just cuz. Mainly grammar fails (I has so many, I don't even-) or things that don't need to be there. I will probably be adding an epilogue, or certain inserts, like back stories, but the main story is good.


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